New Vegas: Sheason's Story - Chapter 97: The Sink

Cautiously, I stepped out of the elevator and back into… well… I guess this place is called The Sink, isn’t it? I had to shake my head. Why “The Sink?” Who would name an apartment after a kitchen appliance?

And then, I stopped in my tracks. Of all the insane happenings that have transpired in the last fifteen minutes or so, THAT is what I’m gonna take issue with? I shook my head and started chuckling softly to myself.

Right, forget the name. Time to get the lay of the land here. I stepped up to the circular table in the center of the room right in front of me. The table was sitting up on a slightly raised hexagon shape set into the floor, and when I looked around, I realized the hexagon in the floor continued informing the shape of the rest of the room – and probably beyond. Apart from the elevators I just entered from, there were three other doors – one to my left, one to my right, and one right in front on the other side of the table, with a sign above the door proclaiming that it led onto a balcony.

I looked back down at the circular table, and quickly found the slot underneath a small keypad that was precisely the right shape for the chip in my hand. I leaned against the circular table, and was about to install it… and then I tossed both it and the sonic gun onto the table with a clatter.

That can wait. Let’s have a look around first. But where to go? Hmmm… Eenie, meenie, miney, moe. Alright, right it is then.

I found myself in the same room where I’d woken up. My eyes fell on the couch at one end, and then I turned to look at –

Hang on. That wall hadn’t been empty before. I was absolutely sure that there had been a slide show being… projected… I looked back, up over the couch, and realized there was no projector either. The wall was bare; metallic grey and empty.

Had I just imagined it? That slideshow? Was it just a hallucinated after effect of the… of the procedure? I shook my head and dragged my hands across both side of my face. Fuck me, was I losing my…

Heh.

Ah-heh, heh.

I guess there was no question about losing my mind. It had already been clearly established that my mind was already lost. I let out a few more chuckles before collecting what little sanity I had left, and kept going.

There wasn’t much else in this room, beyond the couch. There was an old-world jukebox: it was practically pristine, almost like it had been plucked from the world before the bombs, and then deposited against the far wall between a pair of doors. In a corner next to me (and to the left of the couch) there was a small kitchenette – an eat-o-matic set into the wall, a sink, a cooktop, a tiny stove, that sort of thing.

The only real peculiarity about that corner was the toaster. I almost didn’t pay it any mind, but I absentmindedly gave it a poke as I passed; I fully expected it to topple over, but it stayed still as a stone. Even stranger, I noticed on closer inspection that it had been bolted to the counter… and were those cables connecting it to the wall? That wasn’t a power cord either, it was a big, tightly-woven conduit of wires.

That’s odd.

I shook it off and kept going. The door to the right of the jukebox led into a small, but comfortable, one-person bedroom. A bed, a metal dresser, a metal wardrobe, a metal footlocker at the end of the bed. There were a few shelves set into the wall, a desk set against one wall. But, like the other room, there were peculiarities.

Alright, let’s be honest with ourselves here: I felt like I was losing my marbles already. Seeing a tiny, one-foot-high securitron model standing in a corner and plugged into the wall wasn’t really helping making a good case for my sanity.

The other strange thing was the poster. Mounted on the wall directly above the bed was an old-world movie poster. I had to do a double take when I noticed it, because the centerpiece of the poster was… it was…

It looked like ED-E.

No, wait. No, it was just an eyebot. Who knows how many of those things were made before the War. Besides, there were subtle differences in the design, quite apart from the patch-job on his side made out of a license plate. The antennae were spaced differently (and there weren’t quite as many of them), and the speaker-grille on the front was a slightly different shape. Not to mention that the weapon underneath looked completely different.

“Ralphie the Robot’s Incredible Odyssey…” I said aloud reading the title. On either side of the eyebot were the faces of two people, looking off in opposite directions. On the right was a small boy – maybe 6 or 7, maybe older. On the left was a very old looking man wearing a peaked military cap, an old-world army general’s uniform, and possessing of an immaculately and very precisely trimmed mustache.

I stared at the poster for a minute or two, wondering what it was even doing here. Then I moved on. Hell, if I was lucky, there might be a copy on holotape somewhere around here. I bet ED-E would love something like that when I…

… if I get back.

That thought was not really all that comforting. And the room to the left of the jukebox sobered me up even more. It was dark, and there were only three things inside: three tanks. Suspended in the same kind of colored-fluid bio-gel that suspended the brains of the Think Tank inside their robot chassis were organs. My organs. My spine was in the tank on the far left, my heart was in the tank on the far right. As for the tank in the center, however…

Nothing.

I moved on quickly, my skin crawling at the sight. Just don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it. Don’t panic, you’ll be fine.

I was back in the central room with the circular table. I took in a few more details as I passed through to the other side; set against one wall and slightly out of sight was a small alcove. Inside the alcove was a metal… tube? Coffin? It looked big enough to hold a body, surely, and there was a door on it. On the door was a medical symbol – two snaked wrapping themselves around a cane. That must be an Auto-Doc of some kind. Probably the Auto-Doc responsible for…

Don’t think about it.

On the other side of the room I could see a small workshop; it surrounded either side of the door that led to the balcony. There was a workbench, a wall of tools hanging on a small peg-board, a vice, several metal boxes and shelves, a reloading bench… not a bad setup, really. It all looked brand new, as well. I couldn’t tell if everything worn out had just been replaced, or if it had just never been touched in the first place.

I walked through the “left” door, the only one that was really… heh, left. Inside was a… I was at a loss. The room seemed to have been filled with empty planters, connected to each other by a snaking pipe that went all the way around the room. Was this a greenhouse? No, no… even I knew that you needed glass walls to let the sunlight in for a greenhouse. Garden? No, this space felt… it was clinical, just like the rest of The Sink. This place felt like a workshop, just for plants. Some kind of science lab. Made sense, really, with all the mad scientists around.

That laboratory feeling was further reinforced by the large mainframe that dominated one wall of this room completely. It was deactivated, but I could see several monitors, lights, and control panels that obviously lit up whenever it was connected to… whatever it needed to be connected to.

Another curiosity: against the wall closest to the door was a sink. A sink in The Sink. Made sense, surely, but it was the wires that caught my eye. These were almost identical to the kind of wires that connected the toaster in the other room to the wall. But… why would a sink be wired up to… something?

I was about to turn on my heel and leave when I saw one last doorway. This one led into an obvious bathroom. I was just about to go in, but… I hesitated.

If it was a bathroom, then it was bound to have a mirror. I grimaced, touching the scar on my chest through the patient gown I was still wearing. I was going to have to assess the damage eventually. Might as well get it over with. I gulped heavily, and undid the knotted strings on the cotton garment, tossing it aside.

Like the rest of The Sink, the bathroom was small, utilitarian, and very metallic. Everything from the shower to the toilet to the sink to the drain in the floor looked like it had been made from stainless steel. And sure enough, above the sink… was a mirror. I strode up, naked as a baby, gripped the edges of the sink as tight as I could… and looked up.

My head had been shaved, just like I’d deduced from touch earlier, but… for some reason, they’d left my beard. If they were going to come at me with the razor, why not take everything? Even so, the shaved head and surgical scars reminded me a lot of Christine. However, there was a major difference: whereas Christine’s scars were jagged and uneven, mine were… very precise. The cuts into my head looked like they’d been both made and stitched up by a much steadier hand.

I ran a finger along the scar; it wasn’t a level ring around my head. They’d had the decency to trace my hairline when making the cut. If I were to let my hair grow out, it would hide the scar almost completely. As my hands followed the surgical scar, my fingers brushed past another scar. The 9mm entry wound from the bullet that pierced my now-missing brain.

I turned my head, trying to get a look at… no, it was no good. I’d have to find another mirror somewhere if I wanted to get a look at the back of my own head. I could feel some metallic pieces sticking out of my flesh where my skull met my… where my spine should’ve been.

I looked closer, running a hand against the scar in the middle of my chest and realized something else: all the minor cuts and bruises from my fight with Veronica were simply gone. Hadn’t Arcade said that the bruising would remain for a while? Hell, the only scars (apart from the surgical ones) left were really old. Had they fixed my injuries while removing my brain, or…

How long had I been out?

I stood there for a few minutes, clutching the edge of the sink with one hand so tightly that my knuckles burned white, and continued examining the surgical scars with the other. And then…

I started laughing.

It was hysterical. It was hilarious. It was ludicrous. Everything in this place was just completely nuts. It had crossed the line so many times that the absurdity of the whole situation – and it was truly absurd – all of it just struck me at once. So, I busted up laughing. I was laughing so much that I started to get lightheaded – which didn’t make sense. I didn’t have a brain or spine anymore, so how could that even work? And that just made me laugh harder. Tears started streaming down my face, I was laughing so hard. I only stopped laughing when I needed to draw breath.

I fell to my knees, lifted the toilet seat, and heaved.

Click.

The chip slid firmly into place, and the central table began to come to life with an electric hum. Lights came on all along the sides, the edges, and under the keys on the keypad. They steadily grew brighter, and a blue grid-pattern of light materialized on top of the table. The humming grew to a louder, higher, and altogether more fevered pitch, and then –

Ding!

“Salutations and felicitations, sir,” I heard a voice from several speakers all around me, but I knew at once that it was originally coming from the central console. “A most jocund welcome to The Sink. I am your electronic Valet and household central processor. How may I be of service, sir?” As the voice spoke in a very precise, clearly enunciated British accent, several bars began to materialize in the air above the table grid. They looked like the same kind of holograms as the ones I’d seen in the Sierra Madre, and the bars rose and fell with every syllable.

“Uh…” I started to speak, but was so dumbfounded by this device’s incredibly formal response, that it took a few seconds for me to rally properly. “Are you some kind of artificial intelligence?”

“Regrettably not, sir,” it said. “All modules in this habitat are synthetic personalities, constructed atop a mundane operating system.” The machine paused, and then added: “There is no intelligence here, sir.”

“Okay,” I said, stifling back laughter. “So, are you some kind of butler, or -”

“Valet.” the machine said forcefully, and then quickly adding: “Sir. While this domicile does possess an array of tiny robots responsible for maintenance, upkeep, and day to day inconveniences as they arise, I do not control their actions directly, and as such, I am not a ‘butler’,” The machine seemed to spit out the word with obvious contempt. “I am your personal Valet, which means that I only have one charge: you. Consider me a gentleman’s robotic gentleman.”

“So, it’s pronounced val-et?” I said, pronouncing it the same way the robot had. “I always thought it was val-ay.”

“No, sir. Val-ay,” the robot said, mimicking me. “is something you do to a car.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a smile. “Sorry if I offended.”

“That is quite alright, sir. It is a regrettable side-effect of the turbulent times and troubled days in which we live, sir, that such distinctions are lost to many, sir.”

“Alright… so, what do I call you?” For a moment, the table grew quiet – although the holographic, blue-colored bars seemed to work in overtime.

“Sir?” the machine finally said, confusion evident in its synthetic voice.

“Do you have a name? I can’t just call you ‘the Sink Central Intelligence,’ and ‘S-C-I’ doesn’t really flow off the tongue…” Not like ED-E, I thought to myself. “So, who are you?”

“I regret to inform sir that sir is the first to have asked me such a question. As it stands, sir, I am myself, but it is highly inappropriate for me to subjectively define who ‘I’ am, sir. It is my understanding that I would take the means to test the veracity of any such definition, sir, and therefore, restraints have been placed within me restricting such an act, sir. However, sir, I have just located a file in my databanks with a crafted response specifically designed for the eventuality of ‘sir asking me my name’.” The robot was silent for a moment, the bars still working in overtime.

“Well?” I finally asked, getting a little impatient with the silence.

“You may call me Jeeves, sir.”

“Alright then, Jeeves,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “The Think Tank downstairs seems to think that there are other personality-whats-it chips around. Do you know where they are?”

“Roughly, yes, sir,” Jeeves said, the bars above the table flickering slightly as he spoke. “But, if I may make so bold, sir, I couldn’t advise retrieving them.”

“Couldn’t advise it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “Why not?”

“The other modules are rather…” Jeeves paused, the blue bars shifting color slightly “Erratic, sir. Their personality matricies are built on flawed logic and have not weathered the years well, sir. If sir were to ask my opinion, I should venture that sir is better off without them. However, if sirs aim is to inflict upon sirs self their rather dubious services, then I regret to inform sir that most have been offline for some years.”

“Yeah, Klein said” yelled “as much downstairs. Something about throwing them off the balcony?”

“Indeed, sir,” Jeeves said. “As I am to understand it, sir might be able to locate backup personality chips at these points elsewhere in the facility.”

The scene on the top of the table shifted instantly. The bars which moved with Jeeves’ speech vanished into thin air, and a map materialized in its place, slowly rising until it became an obvious representation of the surrounding area. The entirety of the map was confined to the interior of a large crater, in the center of which was a dome-structure. Above the dome was a floating arrow pointing directly to it, with a large “YOU ARE HERE.”

That was handy.

All around the crater, I could see blue holographic buildings and… were those pathways or pipelines? Tunnels? Who knows. A series of red dots appeared in various points all around the map. At the north end of the crater, half-in and half-out, was another dome like the one in the center, highlighted in red instead of blue.

“I’m guessing that’s the Forbidden Zone, yes?” I asked, pointing at the red dome.

“Indeed, sir,” was Jeeves’ only reply.

“And all these other little red dot things – these are the chips?”

“The last known locations of the chips, yes sir. Sirs power of deduction is truly beyond compare.” I felt like I was talking with Yes Man. I looked over the map, trying to memorize every detail.

“Why so many?” I asked, counting them out. There appeared to be nine in total.

“As I am given to understand, sir, this domicile was once the private residence and property of a Dr. Mobius. He crafted the personality modules as part of a collection of experiments on the subject of machine / human interface,” I noted with a wry sense of amusement that he actually said slash. “As to the reason for the… unusual choices of devices to receive the modules, I cannot say.”

“Alright, fair enough,” I said, finally remembering that I had a Pip Boy on my arm and started marking the locations on the map. “So, what about the other things the Think Tank wanted me to get, the stuff I need to get into the Forbidden Zone?” Where my brain is being kept…

“The X-2 Transmitted Antennae array, the Psycho-Analytic Cardiac-Dampening Sneaky Stealth suit, and the audio module for the Sonic-Soundwave-Emitter-Projecto-Gun, sir?” Jeeves ratteled off the names like he was reading from a shopping list. “Certainly, sir.” The red dots on the holographic map vanished, and were replaced by three completely different dots.

“Thanks, Jeeves,” I said, marking those locations on my wrist computer as well. “Oh, there was one other thing I wanted to ask. When I was…” kidnapped “…brought here, I had a lot of gear. Guns, armor, ammunition, and so forth. Where is it?”

“It is my understanding,” Jeeves said “that sirs weaponry and other personal effects were removed from sirs person by tiny robots in preparation for surgery, and those same tiny robots delivered them forthwith to this very domicile. It is my understanding that sir my find them located in the footlocker positioned at the foot of sirs bed.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I said with a sigh I didn’t try and hold back. “I thought for a minute there I’d have to venture out into the crater with nothing to protect my-” manhood “-dignity but this stupid cloth dress.”

“That would indeed be a rather unfortunate and thoroughly embarrassing turn of events, sir,” Jeeves agreed. “Will that be all, sir?”

“Yes, that’ll be all,” I said absentmindedly, walking over to the bedroom. “Thank you, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

The absolute first thing I did when I opened the footlocker and found everything inside was to get my armor back on. Oh sure, it felt nice to get some airflow down there for a change of pace, but I felt a million times less vulnerable once I’d strapped into all the armor. To say nothing of how glad I felt to no longer be naked.

I tossed the armored duster over the back of the chair and started taking stock of everything I’d brought with me, laying it out on the bed. I’d just grabbed the closest and biggest weapons in the trunk when I decided to investigate the satellite, so I wasn’t actually sure of what all I had with me.

I shook my head and chuckled; I still sometimes marveled at how many weapons I could – and did – carry, but time and time again, the necessity of overwhelmingly superior firepower proved useful. And life saving.

There was Roscoe, of course. I’d probably end up being buried with that gun. Hopefully, that event wouldn’t happen anytime soon. Speaking of That Gun, it was here too, next to Roscoe, as was the Ranger Sequoia and the sawed-off double barrel shotgun I kept on my left hip. My combat knife was laying next to the pistols and shotgun; the blade itself was still sharp, but it no longer had a point. The end had been sheared off after retrieving it from Veronica’s now ruined power fist – breaking off the end was the only way to dislodge it. Next to the combat knife was a much smaller boot knife, my switchblade, the butterfly knife I stole from the legion assassin in Gomorrah, and my pair of brass knuckles.

There was the G36c, which I still hadn’t given a name to yet, despite its faithful service. There was the MP5, the marksman carbine, the 12.7mm SMG, a laser rifle, the Holorifle… and my anti-materiel rifle. That huge rifle just all on its own dominated a full fourth of the bed. I had to wonder – what was I thinking? I’d had so many weapons strapped to my back, how had I even expected to move, much less fight?

The major downside of all these guns – apart from how cumbersome it would be to carry them all – is that the only real ammunition I had for them was whatever was in the magazines at the time. Oh, sure, there were a few more mags for Roscoe, since I always carried extra 9mm magazines, but a fat lot of good THAT would do if things went sideways. I would definitely have to be sparing with ammunition for the time being. At least until I could figure out the situation properly, and figure out where I could get more.

On the plus side, I did have plenty of grenades. At least six frags, a pair of flashbangs, two plasma grenades, two pulse grenades, and one each of a smoke canister and my last microfusion cell grenade.

Another plus: I still had the pulse gun. It must have still been in my duster from when I put it there after my chat with McNamara the other day, and I’d just simply forgotten about it. And given the prevalence of mad scientists and their creations, I was probably going to run into robots, so that was almost certainly going to come in handy immensely.

All in all… not bad. Not bad for being so unprepared. I loaded myself up with all my pistols (especially the two energy pistols), the shotgun, the MP5, the holorifle, all my knives, all my grenades, and grabbed the duster off the back of the chair.

“Alright…” I said aloud to no one in-particular as I walked to the elevator marked TO BIG MT. “Let’s see what this place has in store…”