Andronicus23The Simulation - Washington D.C.
As the great door to Sutler’s office slid open, Granite waited a respectfully for his two ruffle and flourishes to conclude before stepping over the threshold. It was a monstrous chamber, far vaster than it needed to be and dimly lit. Plain metal columns rose up and pale blue fluorescent lamps hung down from ceiling that vanished into darkness. Sutler’s desk didn’t move as Granite approached.
Striding professionally between a pair of colonnades, he caught the stern expression of the portraits which hung from them from the corner of his eye: General Pershing, General Le May, General Chase, and other obscure revenants from the past that only the bookish sort like Sutler could be expected to remember—there was notably no post-war figures amongst Sutler’s pantheon. It took precisely forty seconds, Granite coming to a halt with the final cymbal of Stars and Stripes Forever; without the piccolos, much of its cheer had been gutted.
Sutler’s desk was modelled on those used by Vault Overseers, a large torus on a raised column that would give 360 degrees of vision over some kind of Combat Information Center. The column descended into the floor almost silently until it nestled into a nook in the floor. As it descended the great glass window was gradually revealed. Beams of flickering light fell on him—sickly blue and wavering from the water outside—in a way that kept Sutler largely consumed in silhouette.
“Good Afternoon, Commander Sutler,” he said, snapping to salute.
“Good Afternoon.”
“Ashur is dead,” Granite continued after Sutler had sat back down. Sutler’s thin mouth pulled into a smile.
“You don’t say,” he sneered. “How long ago?”
“Uncertain, Continental Army posting at the Pittsburgh rail site heard it from them. But I’d wager within the last 48 hours.”
“Well…” Sutler said. “Good news at-last, with Ashur dead all traces of the Brotherhood of Steel had been eliminated this side of the Ohio River. Do we know who has succeeded him?”
“His daughter, the mutant girl.”
“They’re all mutants,” Sutler said dismissively, his smirk uncontrollable. “Well, we’ll see how long that lasts for. Can’t have someone that inexperienced in command, regardless of their pseudo-religious pretensions. Imagine if we gave that level of command to someone from the First Company—they must be around the same age as the girl.”
“Should we consider some kind of condolence… even if it’s merely tactical,” Granite said even though he knew the answer.
“Of course not, we can offer nothing which could be interpretated as recognition. Just get confirmation that our scheduled shipments will continue. There’s little we can do now until we get more information. Our file on her is small…”
“She has kept a relatively low profile beyond their propaganda.”
“Indeed. We’ll pencil it in for the next meeting of ExComm and determine our strategy going forward. Trouble is befalling all of our enemies it seems. You’ve read the latest dossier on the western front?”
“Or lack there-of, yes Commander. What does the Service make of it?”
“Their eastern perimeter unmanned, no patrols sighted, massive drop off in SIGINT. Current theory is some kind of internal unrest, but that’s unverified… it’s a shame that such timely misfortune befalls our enemies now whilst we are still unready to exploit it properly. I suppose we can’t have expected Ashur to have lasted another ten years—when the Joint Forces would have been at strength—but it would have been nice.”
Granite stood silently as Sutler spoke to himself. Before Sutler had been a cautious officer, over-cautious even, and didn’t have countenanced anything but mild operational risks. Now, with American blood becoming increasingly more plentiful as each Company reached majority, it seemed even that part of the old Sutler was dissipating into this place. He had been the lead on the mission to recover the equipment from Vault 112 and he knew that this programme was capable of producing pretty much anything. But Sutler preferred it to be a ghoulish mausoleum to a place long since gone.
As the great door to Sutler’s office slid open, Granite waited a respectfully for his two ruffle and flourishes to conclude before stepping over the threshold. It was a monstrous chamber, far vaster than it needed to be and dimly lit. Plain metal columns rose up and pale blue fluorescent lamps hung down from ceiling that vanished into darkness. Sutler’s desk didn’t move as Granite approached.
Striding professionally between a pair of colonnades, he caught the stern expression of the portraits which hung from them from the corner of his eye: General Pershing, General Le May, General Chase, and other obscure revenants from the past that only the bookish sort like Sutler could be expected to remember—there was notably no post-war figures amongst Sutler’s pantheon. It took precisely forty seconds, Granite coming to a halt with the final cymbal of Stars and Stripes Forever; without the piccolos, much of its cheer had been gutted.
Sutler’s desk was modelled on those used by Vault Overseers, a large torus on a raised column that would give 360 degrees of vision over some kind of Combat Information Center. The column descended into the floor almost silently until it nestled into a nook in the floor. As it descended the great glass window was gradually revealed. Beams of flickering light fell on him—sickly blue and wavering from the water outside—in a way that kept Sutler largely consumed in silhouette.
“Good Afternoon, Commander Sutler,” he said, snapping to salute.
“Good Afternoon.”
“Ashur is dead,” Granite continued after Sutler had sat back down. Sutler’s thin mouth pulled into a smile.
“You don’t say,” he sneered. “How long ago?”
“Uncertain, Continental Army posting at the Pittsburgh rail site heard it from them. But I’d wager within the last 48 hours.”
“Well…” Sutler said. “Good news at-last, with Ashur dead all traces of the Brotherhood of Steel had been eliminated this side of the Ohio River. Do we know who has succeeded him?”
“His daughter, the mutant girl.”
“They’re all mutants,” Sutler said dismissively, his smirk uncontrollable. “Well, we’ll see how long that lasts for. Can’t have someone that inexperienced in command, regardless of their pseudo-religious pretensions. Imagine if we gave that level of command to someone from the First Company—they must be around the same age as the girl.”
“Should we consider some kind of condolence… even if it’s merely tactical,” Granite said even though he knew the answer.
“Of course not, we can offer nothing which could be interpretated as recognition. Just get confirmation that our scheduled shipments will continue. There’s little we can do now until we get more information. Our file on her is small…”
“She has kept a relatively low profile beyond their propaganda.”
“Indeed. We’ll pencil it in for the next meeting of ExComm and determine our strategy going forward. Trouble is befalling all of our enemies it seems. You’ve read the latest dossier on the western front?”
“Or lack there-of, yes Commander. What does the Service make of it?”
“Their eastern perimeter unmanned, no patrols sighted, massive drop off in SIGINT. Current theory is some kind of internal unrest, but that’s unverified… it’s a shame that such timely misfortune befalls our enemies now whilst we are still unready to exploit it properly. I suppose we can’t have expected Ashur to have lasted another ten years—when the Joint Forces would have been at strength—but it would have been nice.”
Granite stood silently as Sutler spoke to himself. Before Sutler had been a cautious officer, over-cautious even, and didn’t have countenanced anything but mild operational risks. Now, with American blood becoming increasingly more plentiful as each Company reached majority, it seemed even that part of the old Sutler was dissipating into this place. He had been the lead on the mission to recover the equipment from Vault 112 and he knew that this programme was capable of producing pretty much anything. But Sutler preferred it to be a ghoulish mausoleum to a place long since gone.