October 27th, 2287
7:30 A.M.

"<After I came back, I swapped the capacitor and the power relay coil for the rear engines. The energy was being sent energy to the power relay, but the wire to it needed to be replaced along with the fuse. a new power relay coil.>" Meathead spoke, guiding Nate to the bottom deck.

"And after that?" Nate inquired.

"<I went to the shop where the rest of the scavengers were and they said they were after the boat, not you.>"

"And this was still going out disguised as me?"

Meathead nodded.

Nate sighed forward out through his eyes, imagining the trouble Meathead could get him into if he wanted to.

"<They were lying, of course. They wanted to gut you from the inside out, hole-to-hole. They were afraid of the robots but knew that you could get on the ship, so the leader of their mismatched group tried to make a deal.>"

"What kind of deal?"

"<Strip the boat from the inside out, and scrap the whole ship. Use it for lumber and the bots for parts.>"

Nate was silent, but Meathead knew he made the right choice.

"You gunned them down?"

Meathead sighed, "<Yep. They were waiting for me to turn around before attacking, so I drew my gun and shot them all where I stood.>"

"<I got the chip though. Brought it back, checked on you, you were out cold. I poked you a few times, but you didn't even move. I gave the chip to the Navigator, and then he said the last thing before the ship sails are that the Guidance Radar needed to be replaced with a Poseidon radar transmitter. I had no idea what he was talking about, but he said the closest replacement would be in the Poseidon Energy Turbine plant.>"

"I know what a radar transmitter is, why didn't you wake me up after that?"

"<Because you needed rest, and I'd already made up my mind to stop by Poseidon after I finished with Stockton.>"

"But wouldn't that put you at a major risk, running around Cambridge and Charlestown?"

"<Not if I teleported.>"

Nate was about to argue a point when a laugh escaped his chest, "That's hilarious. I forgot you could do that. Did you seriously teleport around town last night while I was asleep?"

The lookalike nodded. "<Point A to point B. It helps a lot having seen the place beforehand too. Also, I borrowed your shotgun.>"

"Anything else?"

"< When I was rooting around the Corvega plant. I picked up a lot of junk that I thought was valuable. Captain Ironsides said the ship needed FLL3 Turbopump bearings. I was about to wake you for that when I dumped everything I was carrying and went through it. And look at what we have here.>"

On a yellow circuit breaker board, screwed onto a painted plate was a fuel cycler and two servo-capacitors that primed the pump and counted the revolutions. There were the letters 'FLL3' painted in small black painted stencil letters.

When it was installed into heavy machinery, it would control the flow of fuel going into the engine. In the case for the U.S.S. Constitution's rockets, the turbopumps could move upwards of 500,000 gallons of liquid hydrogen and oxygen fuel.

"<When I was making my way through the plant, I grabbed this shiny thing.>" Meathead gestured to the turbopump bearing, half as long as Nate's forearm and twice as wide, but he could still pick it up with one hand. It was considerably heavier than it looked, but it was the platinum parts that gave the bearing it's shininess and weight. Made with the heavy metal as well as tin, steel, and iron, the plate protecting the internal components weighed more than the actual fitting needed to make it work.

Before the war, these would cost upwards of nineteen thousand dollars, but there were only six turbopump makers in the world. Even then you could guarantee that the parts designed over in Japan, Sweden, Germany, Russia, Mexico, or India for the same problem, weren't going to match in shape or fitting with other countries.

His dog picked one for free up out of a raider's scrap bin.

"You found that at Corvega?" Nate asked, Meathead nodded.

Nate picked up the turbopump bearing and the guidance chip.

"<I put everything I've picked up we've gathered along the way into one of the forward storerooms and blew out the rest of the mess. We've got thirteen weapons from the Institute, five laser rifles, and eight laser pistols. Along with thirty hand-made pipe weapons, and nine combat rifles, six double barrel shotguns, twelve 10mm. handguns, two .45s, and the Fat Man with two Mini-Nukes. I found the third one underneath a desk on the second deck here. The other forward storeroom is filled with energy cells, mini-gun chain ammo, and missiles for Captain Ironsides.>"

Nate inspected the storeroom, how it was devoid of dirt and junk. "How'd you clean it out so fast?"

"<I warped it out. Kind of like digging, except through the air.>"

All the guns were lined up, ready to be used at a moments notice. "I can't believe you did all this last night. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"<A few hours. From three to six. I was back by one, and spent the rest two hours cleaning.>"

"Well, after the ship sets sail, maybe we'll get a chance to lay down for an actual night. Let's go give these to the Captain and get this show on the road."

\111/

Pushing open the hatch to the main deck, they let it slam down shut behind them as they went from to the back of the ship where Captain Ironsides had one arm resting against the wheel.

"Ah, good morning, soldier. I wish the confrontation with the scavengers didn't end with violence, as our Lookout suggests they ready themselves for retaliation as we speak."

"If I could've spared them, I would've, but I didn't. They only wanted to kill us and strip the Constitution down to the bare bones and use the hull for firewood."

"I'm sure they made a peaceful resolution impossible. We stand but a hair's breadth away from embarking on our sacred mission. Blessings counted, at long last, we'll set sail. Our hero of the hour is to thank. Our mounted NX-42 rockets will alight and unmoor us from this dreaded savings and loan. The Constitution will launch into the heavens and gently land in the ocean. Then we take our rightful place as the defenders of the Atlantic."

Nate smiled, thrilled at the prospect of seeing the USS Constitution set sail once more. Meathead wagged his tail and barked. Meathead's ears perked up, and he started barking wildly, "<Nate, they're back!>"

"How far?"

"Seven blocks and closing fast. I can tell they're moving just past Bunker Hill. A whole group of angry people coming straight this direction."

"Mangey Curs! Crew, prepare to broadside! Repel invad-" Meathead tackled Nate, teleporting him fifteen feet back away from Captain Ironsides as a missile rocket crashed into the sentry bot and exploded. Meathead was shaking, and Nate felt extremely cold and disoriented at the sudden first instance of teleportation. He tried to breathe or talk but his lungs felt like they were trying to force their way up his throat and choke him.

Bending over and coughing, a second missile crashed into the side of the USS Constitution, and the mighty Captain Ironsides hardly looked worse for wear. He was shouting out orders left and right, "Together, we will vanquish these foul scavengers! We will not be deterred from our mission! SHOW NO QUARTER! THAT'S AN ORDER!"

The robot crew shouted "SIR, AYE, SIR!"

Meathead was pro-offering Nate's .308 bolt-action Winchester rifle. Nate's eyes bulged and he grabbed the rifle and leaned on it, taking one knee and then breathing heavy breaths.

"Thank you."

"<No problem.>"

"No, thank you for saving my life."

The protectrons lined the railing, Captain Ironsides mini-gun spun up and unleashed an endless torrent of 5mm rounds down on the scavengers, firing missile after missile in return.

"Fire starboard cannons!" Captain Ironsides shouted, the switch was thrown and twenty explosive cannonball rounds cratered the buildings directly to the right side of the Constitution, leveling the battlefield and killing the first wave of scavengers making mad dashes for the ship.

"Mr. Navigator! My Laser Cannon!" Captain Ironsides commanded. The Navigator Mr. Handy disappeared below deck in an instant, going into the captain's quarters to retrieve the captain's sidearm.

Nate leaned over, taking aim at the first scavenger he picked out and firing. Ten more rushed behind the first and bullets were flying all over, slamming into the hull, or vice versa, the firing brigade blasting apart the buildings and brickwork in attempts to push back the scavengers.

Mr. Navigator returned on deck with a laser minigun mounted onto a sentry bot's arm, carrying the weapon between two claws. Captain Ironside's right arm popped off with a hiss of hydraulic steam, and Mr. Navigator fitted the new arm into the socket.

This weapon, Nate knew, was excessively deadly. The arm powered up, and the Captain rolled right up to the railing, and then an unending torrent of deadly, red light came streaming out, burning holes and cutting straight through everything the laser touched. The captain swept his arm back and forth, making wide paths with the laser beam and both Nate and Meathead shuddered as they saw men cut in half at the waist, or straight down from the shoulder to their leg like they were cleaved in half with a single swipe of a blade. The laser cut through brick, steel, bone, flesh, muscle, and defenses the scavengers tried to put between themselves and a direct line of sight of the USS Constitution was suddenly rendered useless as the beam pierced through their defenses and their vital organs and spine.

The captain was armed with a near limitless supply of armaments, and Nate knew the armory downstairs contained enough ordinance to keep the sentry bot firing for months.

"Navigator! Retrieve the missile launcher for our soldier, friend!"

They turned their heads and watched as the hatch to below deck was thrown open again, and the Mr. Navigator disappeared again, and when he returned less than a minute later, he was carrying a missile launcher and two more rockets in the extra claws. "Jesus," Nate said, taking the missile launcher that was shoved into his hands.

Wiping one hand down his face, he sneezed from the overwhelming scent of gunpowder filling the air and the smoke from the cannon barrels. Rising up, he targeted three of the pickers hiding behind a car, taking turns firing and reloading. Nate's hand found the trigger, and then his grip tightened.

Firing once, he fell backward from the awkward position of his feet to the deck and the recoil giving him the push backward. Nate's entire body was shivering like he just dipped himself in ice water.

"Gods." He said, getting back up onto his feet and reloading the missile launcher. each rocket weighed a pound, and the back end rested on his shoulder. Placing the front end on top of the railing, Nate saw the blown out car and three dead bodies torn to pieces. He flexed his hand out and heard the bullets from below race past him, now a target from the scavengers. Captain Ironside's was taking heavy concentrated fire, but the tank like bot was practically impervious to small arms fire, anything less than .50 caliber rounds would only make little divots in his armor.

Firing again, the rocket screamed across the battlefield and exploded against the back wall of the next building, toppling a staircase and books, forcing one scavenger to run out into the street and try and cross the road, only to be cut down by Meathead firing the Institute laser rifle that shot blue blasts of light.

Nate sunk down, ducking his head so he wouldn't get shot, and made to reload the missile launcher again, when the Captain shouted, "Huzzah! The scavenger assault is broken!"

Nate and Meathead poked their heads through gaps in the railing and saw the scavengers turn and flee. They ran and ran, going towards the bridge that connected Charlestown and the North End.

For a moment, Nate thought they got away, only to see the scavengers stop in the middle of the bridge. Two Mr. Gutsy's chased them from the ship to the bridge, but on the far end was a stonewall of feral ghouls, shuffling towards the noise.

Nate and Meathead watched from a distance as the scavengers were torn apart by a horde of thirty feral ghouls, snarling and roaring, chasing the scavengers to the middle of the bridge where they were attacked from plasma bolts from the Mr. Gutsy's behind, or facing death by feral ghouls as they battered them, and tried to sink their teeth into any soft flesh.

Two men jumped over the side, and half a dozen feral ghouls jumped in after them. It was an absolute massacre.

Nate dropped the missile launcher, letting it clatter onto the deck as he tried to control his breathing that picked up during the firefight.

Squatting, Nate sat on his rear and hugging his legs to his chest, everywhere from his toes to his neck felt freezing while his head was hot and burning. Meathead cozied up to his side and whispered "<Nate, it's okay. It's over.>"

Nate sat there and nodded his head, nodding and nodding, looking at the ground three feet in front of him. "<It's okay.>"

"That's why I hate bridges, Meathead. You never know what's on the other side, and you don't know what's coming up behind you."

"<Yeah, Nate. Keep talking. Fuck bridges. Fuck em. Just keep talking. They're gone. I can't feel anyone but you. We're safe. It's just us.>"

Nate's teeth were chattering, and his hands felt icy cold to the touch. Meathead forced his head underneath Nate's left arm and put his head to his chest, and moved it up and down, listening to the frantic heartbeat.

"Jesus Christ," Nate said, exhaling loudly. His arms stopped shaking, but his body still felt cold. Wrapping his left arm around Meathead, he held him close and tightly, waiting for his body to warm up again in the chilly morning air.

\111/

Captain Ironsides replaced his arm with the Mini-gun and rolled across the deck to where Nate and Meathead were sitting together. "Gods be good, the scavenger assault is broken. Not one of those scallywags stepped foot on our vessel. All hands, prepare for launch! We may not have calm weather such as this for quite some time!"

Nate gripped his fists, making the joints in his fingers pop as he reached his right arm back and let go of Meathead. Pushing himself up, he inhaled shakily and looked out over Charlestown. Half of it was destroyed, and he could count the bodies lying dead in the rubble and streets.

"Mr. Soldier, I fear I must call upon your service one more time. We need power from an auxiliary generator to commence our voyage. We've been using the power supply from the Royal Arms apartment building a single building to the south of our location to keep our fuel cells charged. Now we need you to change the power conductor from the direct current, to alternating. There may be scavengers yet, so take this weapon to defend yourself. MR. NAVIGATOR! Bring the Broadsider!"

"Aye, sir!" The robot disappeared under the deck a third time and brought up a swivel cannon mounted inside of a carrying frame strapped to a makeshift rig with metal rivets and thick ropes. This rig allows it to be carried around with both hands and included a hinge allowing the cannon to be angled vertically for easy reloading. It fires explosive cannonballs using an electronic trigger taped to the back handle, and Mr. Navigator floated there, waiting for Nate to take it. He didn't.

"<I'll go. Nate. Stay here. I'll pop over, and be right back.>"

Mr. Navigator set the Broadsider cannon next to Nate, scooching it closer until it was touching his leg. Satisfied, the robot floated away to carry on his duties.

"Power throttled? Excellent." Captain Ironsides rolled across the deck, "All hands to your stations!" A short whistle noise was emitted, and Meathead threw the switch to the auxiliary power generator.

"Commencing final launch phase. Three...two..."

Meathead flew from the Royal Arms apartment building, his blue membranous wing buzzing rapidly to make it back to the ship on time.

"<So how much lift can four NX-42 rockets achieve if they're all fired off at once?>"

"Wait. Four?" Nate asked. I thought there were only two on the back. He meant to say.

"One. Mr. Navigator, Light the engines! Dreaded Weatherby Savings and Loans, we shall be moored no longer! Away!"

The four NX-42 rockets exploded into action, the combined force to make the 2200 ton, the four million, four hundred thousand pound sailing ship fly with the force of six million pounds of thrust.

The excess 1.6 million pounds of thrust dislodged the sailing ship, obliterating the Weatherby Savings and Loans building and overshooting their goal of making it to the ocean by several hundred feet, vertically.

The ship roared across the sky, by far the loudest thing in the Commonwealth to happen ever since the Great War. Everyone in the Commonwealth collectively turned to the closest person they could find and ask, 'What the hell is that?'

The only noise that was comparable to the roar of four NX-42 rockets was the sound of Nate and Meathead screaming 'SHIT!' at the top of their lungs as they latched onto the center mast and held on for dear life.

Sailing for a beautiful nineteen seconds, Captain Ironsides stood at the helm of the ship, ordering to Mr. Navigator to steer a few degrees to the starboard until plowing into the Weatherby Investment Trust skyscraper in downtown Boston.

Tons and tons of metal and glass rained down onto the streets, crashing and breaking into the surrounding buildings and ground below.

"We did it! Victory!" Captain Ironsides shouted. "The Bosun reports we are a quarter fathom closer to the Atlantic. By my calculations, it will be a mere century before we peak to the ocean. Well done, crew."

"Well captain, it appears we've stuck land. Shall I cast out a mooring line?" Nate called out sarcastically, his ears ringing.

"Nonsense!" Captain Ironsides immediately responded, rolling over the deck to Nate and Meathead. "We are clearly too far away from any ascertainable cleat to tie up to. First Mate, Deploy Anchor!" He shouted. Nate sucked in a quick breath of air and covered his ears.

"Aye, Captain! Deploying Anchor!" Came the quick reply back.

"Wait, no..." Nate began, the early morning motion sickness went into full swing. A ceaseless metallic grinding and chain clanking rattled under the railing of the USS Constitution's bow. Nate dropped to his knees and pressed his hands to his ears as hard as possible until it felt like he was crushing his own skull. Meathead fell to his side and howled.

<The noise! Make it STOP! MAKE IT STOP!>

The grinding of metal against metal an ear-shattering, nerve-wracking noise that shook your core happened for everyone as the sound cut through all of Boston. Everything within a two-mile radius of Downtown Boston that hadn't already heard the rocket ship fly through the air, and smash into a skyscraper was woken up and fully aware of their new neighbor making noise at sunrise.

Them dropping the anchor was only the cherry on top of their noisy voyage. There wasn't a single living thing, robot, mutant, ghoul, or animal in that area that didn't hear the chain and anchor drop down.

The anchor chain pulled the weight of the ship forward, suddenly the entire ship leaned forward as more glass and metal crunched underneath. With a sudden jerk, the chain finally reached the end of its length. The old sailing ship jerked forward, knocking tons of weight forward as things rolled and slid across the decks to the forward area. Nat squatted down onto his toes as Meathead threw his paws out to the side to keep himself steady.

Swinging in the breeze, the anchor of the USS Constitution banged against the tower a few times and then was steady.

"Anchor Deployed, Captain!"

"Jesus, I think we woke the Dead." He peered over the rail, down onto the city streets, then taking in the expanse of the Boston highrises, seeing shapes and shadows move like grass blowing through a field. Ghouls were like packs of rats roaming the streets, hearing the echo and wandering in circles. Moaning, aggravated, he stepped away from the rail and put the thoughts of the swarms of feral ghouls roaming the streets out of his mind.

Taking two steps away from the rail, gunfire erupted all over the city, pockets of settlers, raiders, super mutants all lighting up the streets of Boston with early morning gunfire to counter packs of ghouls.

"I am no Deity, I am merely a captain of this fine seaworthy vessel." Captain Ironsides interjected. "I applaud your efforts for helping us in our endeavors to return to the sea, and hereby reward you for your help. Here is access to my stateroom, as I have little use for it and cannot fit below deck, and I'm extending my gratitude to raise you to the rank of Honorary Lieutenant. Three cheers for our new Lieutenant! Hip Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Hip, Hip, Hooray! Dismissed."

"Meathead, we're staying on board until whatever the hell is down there calms down."

"<There's thousands of them. Your human ghouls. They're still alive, but their emotions are...melted into place... Where everyone's mixing board of emotions are different, it's like someone took a radioactive sledgehammer to their skull and jammed the settings into its last position. Most of the dead heads down there are stuck expressing fear."

"Great...look where we landed too."

Meathead scanned the horizon, doing a full three hundred sixty degrees spin. To the south was Postal Square, overshadowed by a fallen sky bridge that held up the super highway running through downtown Boston. West was the Old Statehouse, they could see down into the community of Goodneighbor, and beyond that was the Boston Common park, and the Massachusettes courthouse and it's shining golden dome. Beyond that was Trinity Plaza, with Fenway Park in uptown Boston. To their immediate right in the west direction was the Mass Fusion skyscraper, the tallest building in all of Boston painted bright red, and still standing strong after two hundred ten years. From their viewpoint, they could look all the way west up the Charles River, and see the six main bridges connecting Boston to Cambridge, and Boston to Charlestown. The first bridge was raised, crashed into by the USS Riptide, the second was partially destroyed on the north end, both surrounding the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth bridges all looked viable to use, and the third and fourth bridges looked the most well traveled and contested if the amount of scrap and junk walls on both sides of the river were any indication. There was the Greentech Genetics building, and way off in the distance, was the Corvega assembly plant. Nate knew, that a few degrees north of there was Concord, and from there, Sanctuary Hills.

To the North was, Old North Church, and across the river was Bunker Hill and the memorial obelisk sticking straight up. Farther north was the Revere Satellite array and a lighthouse still casting out light in the early morning. To the east was the Boston Airport, now the runways were flooded and half the island of West Boston was sunk into the sea.

"Look straight down," Nate said, pointing down to the forward starboard side of the ship.

Directly below them was Faneuil Hall, and there were Super Mutants crawling all over the roof, trying to stay off the streets as the thousands of feral ghouls clamored through the city blocks, looking for the source of all that noise.

Travis heard the loud roar of rocket engines, followed by an ear splitting screech of metal, finished off with two minutes straight of clanking metal chains. Rolling onto his side, he reached out for the microphone on his desk and mumbled into it.

"Oh...I think I speak for everyone in the Commonwealth when I say, what the hell was that?" Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pushed himself up onto one elbow and leaned far out of his bed and was just barely able to press the play button with his middle finger. Then he flopped back down into bed, looking up at the ceiling with the microphone still in his left hand.

"Is it too on the nose if I play 'Whole lotta shaking going on' by Big Maybelle?" Travis asked the Commonwealth. "Eh...I'm playing it anyway." He said, watching the reels spin in slow circles.

Laying his head back against the pillow he exhaled. "Today sounds like it's gonna be a long day folks...watch out for ghoulies, you know how they love to party when someone starts making noise."

Falling back asleep with his hand still on the microphone, the Commonwealth heard Travis snore as 'Whole Lotta Shaking Going On' Played in the foreground.