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"The King" – The Palace of Caesar, Santa Fe
Turning away from Barnaky once he had finished, Gladstone addressed “The King” as the man called himself.
“Mr, King, I would be pleased if our nations could come to an arrangement concerning an irritant to the both of our lands. It is my belief that an entente between the Western Brotherhood, Vegas and the Legion should be formed to both contain the NCR and deter it from any future acts of aggression. Would you be open to such an arrangement? And of course, the reopening of trade between our lands would also be on the table as well.”
The King interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms. He had tried his hardest to stay in the background and digest the landscape that was unfurling around him, but the High Elder had dragged him into the middle of the discussion.
“I speak for Mr. House when I say that the NCR has no future with the FZM. While we all have adapted our goals, our traditions, and our images to coincide with this changing world, the west coast remains a pale facsimile of old world pitfalls. The fate of President Kimball Jr. proved that even with a regime change, they have not changed. They may very well be left behind…”
“…As a result, many of the citizens on their eastern border have flocked to the FZM, which boasts a higher standard of living and a stupendous amount of labor. Still, the NCR is the largest potential threat on the board—larger than even this terror from the East—and our only chance of preventing inevitably being rolled over by their gluttonous manifest destiny is to ensure that the rest of the west keeps them in check. It is useless to wage a war against the NCR, but the objective is to keep them contained. The trifecta of the Legion, FZM, and Midwestern Brotherhood has done so thus far.”
The King then reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and plopped a cigarette into his mouth. He lit the end with a shiny silver lighter and let loose a puff of smoke. “If you want to assist us in applying a tourniquet around the west coast, then I shall welcome it. But only on the condition that you do not abuse our understanding to invade other nations in the west. Much is at stake, and we cannot afford distractions.”
The King then took another drag from his cigarette and loosely pointed at Barnaky and then Lucius. “These are the two you should ensure you’ve convinced. Mr. House values his newfound friendships with the Lord-Paladin and Caesar.”
The King then addressed the two across the table. “Robert House sends his regards and offers his support. As we speak, the Securitron Construction Plant in Big MT Research Center operates tirelessly to double its efforts in production. Should you want it, a force of securitrons and flag-bearing soldiers await to take the train east. Our securitrons have no need for sleep or other provisions and will have no problem following orders to the letter. They are fast and immune to the vast majority of chemical weapons.”
After directing his words to Barnaky and Caesar, he leaned back in his chair. “You need only ask.”
Mr. House – El Dorado Substation, Nevada
Robert’s face flickered onto the dusty, grime-coated screen built into the wall of the El Dorado office. House had always intended on having an eye on this place—as it was the conduit which connected HELIOS One and New Vegas—but had not sent his visage to this room in ages. He trusted Thomas to a strange degree, but despite their correlation in vision, he did not trust him enough to connect this piece of technology to Hoover Dam. Instead, HELIOS—a work in progress, at best—would serve as the spark.
“…You could have at least cleaned off my terminal and done away with the filth…” House muttered as a room filled with scientists, caravan guards, securitrons, and soldiers alike stood before him.
One of the infantrymen retrieved his handkerchief and began to briskly wipe away the grime on the screen. Mr. House scoffed; how unprofessional and meaningless of a gesture. No matter. This group of unmentionables was about to witness history in the making.
“Go on, then. Time is of the essence. I want to see…”
Before Robert House’s screen stood a tall object wrapped in a giant piece of cloth. The delivery party stared at each other squeamishly, trying to deduce through eye contact who would unwrap the hulking ‘gift’ that stood before them. House, as usual, had not given any information to the team about the object they’d shipped from Big Mountain. It was astonishing, really, how all the cogs in the ever-chugging machine of the FZM operated without even being able (or trying) to visualize what the mastermind had planned for the future.
“Show me.”
One of the soldiers bearing U.S. colours tugged at the piece of cloth and unmasked a gargantuan sculpture of technology.
“…The fuck is this?” bellowed a security guard who stared up at the machine.
“Based on my research, it is a source of power. A great deal of power. A gift.” Mr. House had concluded that this ‘gift’ was a means for Robert and Thomas to open easier, less intensive radio communication from New Vegas to Boston.
“From where?”
“A place that officially does not exist.”
The group of scientists had already begun unwinding wires and attaching power sources by the time the rest of the caravan had noticed. They were clearly on a different wavelength than the brutes who had protected the device; they knew far more than the others.
Before long, the machine was completely wired into the Dorado. Without saying a word, one of the scientists nodded at House – an affirmation that their work had finished.
“Turn it on.”
One of the scientists anxiously shuffled toward the switch. Incredible…such a small apparatus with so much power resting behind it. The man’s fingers trembled as he wrapped them around the lever. He gave a glance at Mr. House and pulled.
The machine hummed for a minute and the caravan party shrugged at each other, unamused. “That’s it?”
Mr. House kept an intent gaze on the cauldron of electricity. “Wait.”
The device then whirred into a burst of energy. The lights inside of the El Dorado Substation began to flicker violently. Then, before any of the caravan could react, bolts of electricity began to strike out from the spinning metal. The scientists were frozen in awe and terror, but not for long; a chain reaction of energy electrocuted and completely ripped through its unfortunate hosts. The rest of the caravan sprang to the walls. “What the hell?!”
The crescendo of energy continued to absurd proportions. Something had gone terribly wrong. “Turn that fucking thing off!” screamed one of the survivors. One of the caravan guards attempted in vain to navigate through the field of sparks to turn off the switch, but once he stepped too close, another bolt zapped through the man’s chest and immediately snuffed the life from his limp body. The fever pitch of energy continued. Louder and increasingly violent by the second.
Then, there was only silence. The machine’s first trial-run had finally run through its turbulent lifespan. The remaining soldiers and guards had drawn their weapons, but the substation’s power had overloaded, and the lights were completely blacked out. They waded around anxiously in the dark. Mr. House’s image was gone.
Turning away from Barnaky once he had finished, Gladstone addressed “The King” as the man called himself.
“Mr, King, I would be pleased if our nations could come to an arrangement concerning an irritant to the both of our lands. It is my belief that an entente between the Western Brotherhood, Vegas and the Legion should be formed to both contain the NCR and deter it from any future acts of aggression. Would you be open to such an arrangement? And of course, the reopening of trade between our lands would also be on the table as well.”
The King interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms. He had tried his hardest to stay in the background and digest the landscape that was unfurling around him, but the High Elder had dragged him into the middle of the discussion.
“I speak for Mr. House when I say that the NCR has no future with the FZM. While we all have adapted our goals, our traditions, and our images to coincide with this changing world, the west coast remains a pale facsimile of old world pitfalls. The fate of President Kimball Jr. proved that even with a regime change, they have not changed. They may very well be left behind…”
“…As a result, many of the citizens on their eastern border have flocked to the FZM, which boasts a higher standard of living and a stupendous amount of labor. Still, the NCR is the largest potential threat on the board—larger than even this terror from the East—and our only chance of preventing inevitably being rolled over by their gluttonous manifest destiny is to ensure that the rest of the west keeps them in check. It is useless to wage a war against the NCR, but the objective is to keep them contained. The trifecta of the Legion, FZM, and Midwestern Brotherhood has done so thus far.”
The King then reached into the breast pocket of his suit jacket and plopped a cigarette into his mouth. He lit the end with a shiny silver lighter and let loose a puff of smoke. “If you want to assist us in applying a tourniquet around the west coast, then I shall welcome it. But only on the condition that you do not abuse our understanding to invade other nations in the west. Much is at stake, and we cannot afford distractions.”
The King then took another drag from his cigarette and loosely pointed at Barnaky and then Lucius. “These are the two you should ensure you’ve convinced. Mr. House values his newfound friendships with the Lord-Paladin and Caesar.”
The King then addressed the two across the table. “Robert House sends his regards and offers his support. As we speak, the Securitron Construction Plant in Big MT Research Center operates tirelessly to double its efforts in production. Should you want it, a force of securitrons and flag-bearing soldiers await to take the train east. Our securitrons have no need for sleep or other provisions and will have no problem following orders to the letter. They are fast and immune to the vast majority of chemical weapons.”
After directing his words to Barnaky and Caesar, he leaned back in his chair. “You need only ask.”
Mr. House – El Dorado Substation, Nevada
Robert’s face flickered onto the dusty, grime-coated screen built into the wall of the El Dorado office. House had always intended on having an eye on this place—as it was the conduit which connected HELIOS One and New Vegas—but had not sent his visage to this room in ages. He trusted Thomas to a strange degree, but despite their correlation in vision, he did not trust him enough to connect this piece of technology to Hoover Dam. Instead, HELIOS—a work in progress, at best—would serve as the spark.
“…You could have at least cleaned off my terminal and done away with the filth…” House muttered as a room filled with scientists, caravan guards, securitrons, and soldiers alike stood before him.
One of the infantrymen retrieved his handkerchief and began to briskly wipe away the grime on the screen. Mr. House scoffed; how unprofessional and meaningless of a gesture. No matter. This group of unmentionables was about to witness history in the making.
“Go on, then. Time is of the essence. I want to see…”
Before Robert House’s screen stood a tall object wrapped in a giant piece of cloth. The delivery party stared at each other squeamishly, trying to deduce through eye contact who would unwrap the hulking ‘gift’ that stood before them. House, as usual, had not given any information to the team about the object they’d shipped from Big Mountain. It was astonishing, really, how all the cogs in the ever-chugging machine of the FZM operated without even being able (or trying) to visualize what the mastermind had planned for the future.
“Show me.”
One of the soldiers bearing U.S. colours tugged at the piece of cloth and unmasked a gargantuan sculpture of technology.
“…The fuck is this?” bellowed a security guard who stared up at the machine.
“Based on my research, it is a source of power. A great deal of power. A gift.” Mr. House had concluded that this ‘gift’ was a means for Robert and Thomas to open easier, less intensive radio communication from New Vegas to Boston.
“From where?”
“A place that officially does not exist.”
The group of scientists had already begun unwinding wires and attaching power sources by the time the rest of the caravan had noticed. They were clearly on a different wavelength than the brutes who had protected the device; they knew far more than the others.
Before long, the machine was completely wired into the Dorado. Without saying a word, one of the scientists nodded at House – an affirmation that their work had finished.
“Turn it on.”
One of the scientists anxiously shuffled toward the switch. Incredible…such a small apparatus with so much power resting behind it. The man’s fingers trembled as he wrapped them around the lever. He gave a glance at Mr. House and pulled.
The machine hummed for a minute and the caravan party shrugged at each other, unamused. “That’s it?”
Mr. House kept an intent gaze on the cauldron of electricity. “Wait.”
The device then whirred into a burst of energy. The lights inside of the El Dorado Substation began to flicker violently. Then, before any of the caravan could react, bolts of electricity began to strike out from the spinning metal. The scientists were frozen in awe and terror, but not for long; a chain reaction of energy electrocuted and completely ripped through its unfortunate hosts. The rest of the caravan sprang to the walls. “What the hell?!”
The crescendo of energy continued to absurd proportions. Something had gone terribly wrong. “Turn that fucking thing off!” screamed one of the survivors. One of the caravan guards attempted in vain to navigate through the field of sparks to turn off the switch, but once he stepped too close, another bolt zapped through the man’s chest and immediately snuffed the life from his limp body. The fever pitch of energy continued. Louder and increasingly violent by the second.
Then, there was only silence. The machine’s first trial-run had finally run through its turbulent lifespan. The remaining soldiers and guards had drawn their weapons, but the substation’s power had overloaded, and the lights were completely blacked out. They waded around anxiously in the dark. Mr. House’s image was gone.