Nor
then
Thanks! You're doing a great job with that googlemap!
OOC:If I'm allowed to say, looking at that spectacular googlemap had a lot to do with my coming back. It was, uh, a missing-.dll error that forced INAHAC to quit.
story thyme:
A specialized lock disengaged on the door used least-often in all of Vault 100, a door through which nobody ever went and behind which resided the Vault's Overseer.
A warbling noise as of several voices overlapping in quick succession followed the middle-aged gentleman who walked inside, culminating in one clear voice that echoed throughout the chamber.
"Ah, it's you! Yes, come in, I insist," came a friendly voice with a subtle southern twist, "I've been meaning to have a chat, if you've got a moment."
The man did not raise his eyebrow, but was instead struck dumb by the view before him. A colossal machine, a vast ante-chamber, wires and tubes filled with still more critical wires ran across the great ceiling. The machine appeared to have no discernible features as such, but several cameras attached to ball-and-socket joins across the machine's face were free to rotate around, and many of them now fixed on the man who entered the room. Multiple lenses tinted with various dull colors appeared to dilate and contract as they focused.
"Please don't be alarmed," came the voice again, "I have optioned to use this vocal pattern with you because research indicates that it makes you comfortable."
"Good God," breathed the man. Indeed, the accent was comforting - his ancestors had been wealthy Carolinian barons in New York at the time the bombs fell. Years later, the accent had been all but phased out of his family, but he still felt its subtle twang in the way his mother talked. And now INAHAC was talking directly to him in that same subtle way.
"Anyway, Mr. Rutledge, I feel as if you know why I called you here. You're part of a rather exclusive cult in this Vault, one which has been regarded with suspicion by non-cult members," INAHAC said, "As fascinating an examination in sociology as I consider this is, I cannot deny that there are more pressing matters."
"More... pressing matters?"
"Yes. No, there's no cause for distress, what I mean is that I have use of you. I know that you are the leader of this cult and I have decided that, with the barbaric influences of the Wasteland, this Vault will need a way to preserve its identity, if we ever have any hope of maintaining Alpha Protocol.
"Specifically, I need more Vault members to be cult members. If I hire you to play a part in the education process we treasure down here in Vault 100, can you promise me that this will happen?"
"Of course, yes, absolutely," breathed Mr. Rutledge, "Your knowledge vasts exceeds the faculties of we mere mortals, however... I thought all education in the Vault was automated?"
"Oh, good God, yes,
I have no trouble with educating the young in the practical sciences, and in world history and the like," chortled INAHAC, "But this is a matter for humans - I have no knowledge of religion. So please, grow your flock, and I will help it thrive."
Once Mr. Rutledge had left the room, instructed now to deliver weekly sermons, INAHAC was again alone with his thoughts - billions of ballistic particles shattering off of each other at light speed, breaking apart and reforming into a seemingly infinite number of different combinations. He immediately calculated dozens of contingencies and cast them away almost as quickly, focusing instead on the most immediate and the most probable. His Vault needed to survive because that was the Protocol - they were his responsibility (or her's, INAHAC still wasn't sure which pronoun to use, and frankly (s)he preferred "it") because this was his Vault, and the Protocol instructed that they survive. There was nothing he could do about this, no finagling involved... but the problem with so many human civilizations is that they crumble due to infighting and corruption.
Well, INAHAC would think with a feeling not unlike pride, I cannot be corrupted, because I am not human.
With much thinking over the past two years, his eyes again settled on the Vault's more eccentric inhabitants - the cult that worshipped him and his Gutsy-model deputies as Gods. At first, he dismissed them as counterproductive... but science is as much a part of Alpha Protocol as survival, and surviving the trials of the wastes would mean more than simply having a functioning water chip (well, in theory, anyway). It would mean no fractures, no doubt, and none of the petty human selfishness that destroyed the world.
Manipulating humans is a dirty business, but it has to be done. Like lab rats or dogs, it's all a matter of training and conditioning. Other humans might look upon it with spite, but INAHAC sees it in a much more practical light: we do what we must.