- See Ulysses' Odyssey
Ulysses log Y-17.15
...back again. Left that crater behind. Got a few holotapes left, ones from the medical center. The woman... she fixed the recorder. Said it wouldn't last, repayment for me fixing her. She doesn't like debts, can respect that. Payment enough, just to hear someone who believes in the Brotherhood of Steel. Not Elijah. Different view. Same madness. She answered me on their philosophy, their way of seeing - the roads they walk. Dead-ends. Empty... as if technology can solve anything. Big Empty's proof where that road leads. Just like the Divide, and all the roads that lead to it.
Ulysses log Y-17.16
Big Empty - there's something hidden there, a crater, past wind and sand - so deep in the desert, there's no turning back. Finding the crater was an accident, was following the weather patterns - the Divide sky torn like that, man's violence, not nature's. That violence in the sky, had a source. Tracked it. Like following a river current. Left the colors to mark my way, like always, case someone finds them, learns the pattern - the Courier might. When I thought sand and wind would never end... came to the crater. And there... there was an Old World facility, a weather station, at the edge, still raking the sky with electricity and generators. And beyond it... saw the rest of the Old World hell there, all carved up like garden plots. Had to see what was there, couldn't leave it be. Things sleep in the Big Empty, the Brotherhood woke them up - can't move quiet, any more than the two-headed Bear can. And when they woke up, it was like all of history waking up at once. Almost didn't make it out. Almost. Left with answers I never intended.
Ulysses log Y-17.17
Have you ever wanted to speak to history - just to know the why of it? I don't. Not any longer. There's old stories about gods and men, past history, into myth - where the gods, they're like children... petulant, cruel. Those were the voices of the Big Empty, the past. Couldn't leave well enough alone, had to ask. Had to ask the why of it. Their answers were madness. And power, stronger than me, would take a hundred Elijahs... someone tougher than him or I to best them in their Dome. They didn't know why they were there, what had led to that point, their names - like serpents devouring themselves, cannibalizing their own thoughts. When all seemed lost, thought it was the end - my anger gave me strength to ask them my last question. "Who are you, that do not know your history?" And they awoke. For... a short time. The flag you wear, they said. We remember. America. It wasn't just a flag to them... it was a place, an idea they had cared for. Once. They told me what it was like to grow in that world... all they had done to lift it up... protect it. They... didn't know it was gone, that... ...yet they had cared once. Before forgetting their history. As they were talking... kept seeing the Courier's shadow behind them, giving each their words weight. History cast aside... a home, left behind. I listened. I asked. Was there anything left? Anything that still carries America's voice? And they told me I had already been there. I and one other, walking right out of history deeper than we knew. They told me what lies in the heart of the Divide, what can be found there. And the words to awaken it - and the one to speak them.
Ulysses log Y-17.21
Emptiness here - like the sands of the Great Salt Lake, echoed. The beating in the Divide sky... like storm drums of the White Legs. Ran with them on the salt beds, at Caesar's command - cut the throats of the two-headed Bear, cut all communities off. Use storm, sky. Disease. Fire, starvation... and the violence of the ignorant to ruin all who could... might stand against him. But the White Legs... they couldn't live on their own, like most scavengers. So gave them purpose - turned their hunger into a weapon. The wall of New Canaan... too high for Caesar. Too proud, maybe - or maybe something there, from his past, that needed killing. Memory of Graham. Helped them dig out Canaan supply caches, and other secrets the sands hid - bunkers, filled with powered weapons even the Brotherhood might desire. They called these new weapons "storm drums" in the firing of shells. Taught them the power in the casings... to channel the spirits in their guns. Me... they called me the Flag-Bearer. Glory in my hand, in my staff that still bore the weight of the Old World just as the symbol on my back did. I learned their weapons as a means of respect. And when it came their turn to pay respect to me... history came rushing back. Can't escape what's been done. History's there... no matter how far you walk.
Ulysses Log Y-17.22
I walked the Great Salt Lake as Caesar's eye, then his hand. Mongrels there, two-legs and four. Saw the walls of New Canaan the scavengers circled... hadn't the strength or fire to take. Too high, too strong. White Legs, they were born for war, they run to it, hungry for battle... yet their hunger is to be a part of history, something larger. Like the Legion. As always, brought them a message - from Caesar. If New Canaan burns, Caesar might see them. "Might." Even the chance was a lie. To honor Caesar - destroy the history of New Canaan, and the way they carry it - in their generations and family. Caesar respects such strength, I told them. That - that was truth, even if "strength" wasn't the word. Obedience. You must be willing to kill anyone, children, mothers, the weak, elders... if these New Canaanites value the generations, that is what you must kill. It was like Vulpes was speaking through me. Use the night, silence, and fire to change their words to pleas, to screams. No need for bombs when hate will do. I... asked the White Legs to destroy a people with ancestry, going back thousands of years - another death of history, lost to time. The New Canaanites... they supplied medicine. Food, traded with others. Civilization, a hand from the past, not history... ...but maybe a past deeper, farther than that to a place where this... God really exists. If so, his handiwork and people belong elsewhere, not in this place. Another symbol, like Bear and Bull, with no meaning in the present.
Ulysses log Y-17.23
The White Legs... meant to show respect, bribe me for Caesar's favor, echoing mannerisms and words... Showed them tech caches, taught them the workings of chamber and powder, spoke of Caesar's pride in those that used such things... lies. And... ...and then... they tried to honor me - not the Legion. They brought me before the campfire one night, showed me how they changed themselves, how they wore their hair now. It was like my entire dead tribe in the firelight, teeth grinning red in the dark - eager corpses, blood-covered ghosts. They... had taken my braids, the way of the Twisted Hairs, as if it showed they were like me, of me... ...while every knot in their braids spoke of raping, violence - and ignorance of what the knots meant. They thought to show respect... defiled it. Lost myself in trying to read the braids they wove, when I remembered they had put no meaning in it. They had no history of what it meant. They didn't even know the insult in the twists, knots... and Dry Wells came rushing back, the White Legs circled like that... It was like looking at the dead of my tribe, reborn as ghosts - hateful, hungry, bowing to Caesar. Another history... gone, carried by me alone.