[b]Alan Sutler[/b] The one thing that Sutler enjoyed most about leaving the simulation world was it allowed for true isolation. He’d ordered away his close protection and simply gone for a walk in the dusty perimeter above Vault 101 before stopping to sit on the small rock from which he could see his domain. The pyramid dominated his field of view, its lofty pinnacle still higher than he currently was, but the sunlight reflected beautifully from the Augustus Autumn Memorial Reservoir. Objectively of-course, it was a unnecessary risk, a sharpshooter or even a quiet molerat could easily get the best of him from here. It was such moments though, outside of the simulation, that let him feel like a real human again. He liked to be alone, and he liked a cold beer, and he liked to throw stones aimlessly just to see them skitter across the ground. Being the Supreme Commander was not easy and he remembered an argument before with Autumn where he had told Sutler that he was fit to be an NCO but nothing greater. He didn’t like to remember the arguments he’d had with his long-gone friend, including the last time that they had ever spoke, made only more bitter by the fact that Sutler was basically doing everything that Autumn had wanted to do before anyway. He preferred the older memories, back on the Oil Rig, as young and carefree men more concerned with boredom than existential crisis; of taking their two beers and chatting aimlessly about the chests of various compatriots they would enjoy being able to pin medals on. “Sir,” a voice unexpectedly called. Sutler glanced over to see a red-faced officer waving a slip of paper tape. Sutler had given permission for his moment to be interrupted for anything especially pressing. The officer saluted and handed the slip over to him. ESTABLISHED_FOB_IN_COMMONWEALTH._TRANSMITTING_COORDINATES_AND_SURVEILLANCE_DATA._MISSION_PROCEEDING_AS_PLANNED_SUPREME_COMMANDER. * * * * * Back in the cool interior of Vault 101, Sutler returned to the former administration wing. The duty officer saluted and handed-him a clipboard, the documents of which Sutler scanned whilst the officer briefed him. “We informed you immediately sir,” he was saying. “Co-ords indicate a Poseidon Energy plant on the southern periphery of Boston.” Poseidon Energy, of-course… “Have you tried to establish a PoseidoNet connexion?” Sutler asked. PosiedoNet was one of the Enclave’s many aces. A pre-war communications network between the facilities of the Poseidon Energy company, it had also served as a secure network for the Department of Defence and other government agencies with whom the company was intimately involved; it had been selected for use after a possible nuclear conflagration and hardened sufficiently. Even today the network remained partially operational, though was seen more as a liability than a useful tool – at-least until now. “We’re working on it sir,” the officer continued. “North-east took it fairly bad in the War, we’re trying to figure out which nodes are still running and won’t result too much packet loss.” “I see.” The away team was currently just one man, Issac Jascabo, of the Americorps and a relative to the incumbent Commander Joseph Jascabo; a competent and highly capable reconnaissance asset. That Jascabo had replied directly to him showed a degree of temerity and, if Sutler had to guess, ambition. It was true that Sutler was the operational head of the mission, but the personal nature of the response still irked him. Or maybe it was just a Wasteland thing, or a Talon Company thing, or stars knows what-ever else with these people. “You should send a message to Commander Jascabo,” Sutler continued. “I’m sure he’d like to know that his brother is still alive.” “Very good Sir.” “And I’ll dictate something right now.” They had prepared their away team in-advance, more than just field-ops it was equally likely that some diplomacy or official overtures may be necessary. The forward-commander then had to be someone whom Sutler could trust to act as a plenipotentiary – of which there was only one candidate. * * * * * It was some hours later when Sutler would look up from his desk, as the door slid open and the towering figure of his oldest compatriot stepped in. “Sir,” Colonel Granite said, snapping a firm salute. Sutler returned the salute, before crossing the ground between them and following up a firm handshake with a solid embrace. On the rare occasions when Sutler was already out before Granite, he never met him at the Pyramid, preferring the privacy of the office. “Good to see you in the flesh again Dom,” Sutler said, beaming un-controllably. He waved for the man to sit down before resuming his place at his desk. For a man, physically, pushing 60 Granite was still a physically active man; even the ravages of the Hibernation Chambers hadn’t taken away his imposing stature. “Likewise Al, though I’m just as excited to be going on an away mission. Just like old times.”