Veronica Santangelo ran a hand through her short, almost boyish brown hair and sighed in annoyance at how oily it had gotten. The oppressive midday Nevada heat threatened to drown her in sweat as she sat down on the hood of a burned-out car strewn out the side of the cracked highway, and to make matters worse she felt a stab of pain lance through the inside of her cheek.

She rubbed the cheek thoughtfully, thinking back to the memory of what caused it in the first place. She had already drowned herself in half a bottle of whiskey back there, and the whole night had been a bit of a fog. There were bright lights, the girl she was hitting on edged away from her, and then the rest was a blur. When she woke up in the medical cart she found out that she'd taken on more than half of the clientele of the inn and they'd billed the damages she'd caused to Elder McNamara.

The most troubling memento she got from that incident was the chronic pain that occasionally popped up inside her mouth when she ate something particularly sweet. She'd been eating a half-molten Fancy Lad snack cake and despite the gooey, almost liquid feeling in her mouth she liked the taste enough to derive at least some enjoyment from it. She didn't want to spit the sugary concoction out, so she did her best to swallow it.

Veronica had been a stalwart companion of the mysterious woman known as Courier Six, and her influence rubbed off on the scribe in more ways than she could count. Sitting across from her was a bald, bespectacled man who had obviously been spending too much time in front of terminals. He was Scribe Ibsen, and like Veronica he wasn't really all that fond of the current environment. Like her, he was sweating like a pig, and it seemed like he couldn't go five seconds without wiping sweat away from his forehead with his towel.

He noticed the way she was rubbing her cheek and frowned.

"You really should take better care of your teeth, Veronica," he said, in an almost patronizing tone. "All that sugar can't be good for you."

Veronica smirked at that remark. "Haven't you heard, Ibsen? I'm very good at doing things that aren't good for me."

Ibsen narrowed his eyes at her and shrugged. "Well, far be it from me to judge your choices. I've always thought that your recklessness was part of your charm."

Her lips curled into a warm smile at the compliment. "Thanks. I don't make it a point to do the stupidest choice at the most crucial times, though. I've just got something of a knack for it, really."

Ibsen sighed. "Do you always have to put yourself down like this?"

"I'm not putting myself down," she replied. "I'm just bringing myself up to the same level that the world is, if that makes any sense." She racked her mouth for a bit and rubbed her cheek again, looking to change the subject. "So, how's that girl you've been pining after? Snow, was it? The emotionless one?"

Veronica took a sick pleasure in watching the faint blush creep up his face. She felt terrible for doing it, but she was bored. She continued on. "I've seen her in the showers, you know. If you need any information about her body…"

"You gawk at everyone in the showers," retorted Ibsen dismissively. "Some of the others make it a point to avoid you – what with your preferences and all. Grayson thinks you're creepy."

Veronica held up her hands as if to prove her innocence. "Hey, can't blame a girl for looking. Besides, I doubt Snow cares if I stare at her even for an hour. She's one of those... how do I put it? A-"

"Guys?" interjected Watkins' voice through the radio. Veronica found her voice annoying. There had always been a bit of a rivalry between them, and despite its serial escalation it never really blossomed into full-on hate for each other. They tolerated each other's existence. "We found something. You better come take a look at this."

"Gotcha," said Veronica. Finally. She nodded at Ibsen and patted his shoulder affectionately. "You can tell me about that later, Ibsen. It's time."

They slid out of the car hoods they were sitting in and made their way to what looked like a couple of heavily armoured men standing by in front of the ruined gas station. They were tall, easily capable of dwarfing any normal human. They were not men, however – they were simply suits of T-45d power armour. Veronica stepped up behind one and turned a wheel that looked like it was designed to be put on a pipe. The back of the suit opened up to accommodate her, and she stepped in. The suit closed around her with a satisfying hydraulic hiss. She heard a similar sound when Ibsen entered the suit assigned to him.

With that, they journeyed off into the vast expanse of the Nevada desert towards the vague direction of Watkins' signal.

The heat didn't bother them as much as it would if they hadn't been wearing the armour, but it was still uncomfortable even with the air conditioning modules turned on full blast. For the most part, the walk was stuffy and uncomfortable but by the time they rendezvoused with the other two the sun had already turned orange. Veronica just looked at it for a while, hiding between the giant nipple-peaks of two particularly pointy mountains. They'd arrived at what looked to be an abandoned US army checkpoint flanked by two turretbots that had been disabled thanks to the liberal application of hot plasma bolts.

"They didn't put up much of a fight," said Cordoba, his voice amplified by his helmet's speakers. His suit of power armour seemed a lot more polished compared to theirs, an aesthetic afforded thanks to the fact that his was a later model – T-51b. He was a middle-aged man who'd seen a lot of battle, and like most Paladins he wasn't fond of being verbose. "We took the liberty of scouting ahead for you. The whole place was an airfield of some sort, and it doesn't seem to be on any of the maps provided before. This place is definitely Old World, and as far as I can tell nobody's been here since the bombs fell. We'll take another look around."

"Sounds like a good idea," said Veronica. "You go on ahead. Ibsen and I will cover the places you haven't visited yet."

Watkins pointed to a couple of buildings nearby. "We haven't checked those out yet. You should probably go take a look."

Veronica followed the gesture and then snapped back to Watkins. "Gotcha. If you see anything shiny, tell me. It could be important."

Watkins didn't seem to take kindly to the order. "If you say so."

Veronica grumbled. "Try not to lose your pistol while you're there."

That shut her up. She wasn't a big fan of Watkins either, but they had to work together for now. Sacrifices had to be made and that little bit of information helped to silence her whenever the need came up. One of Six's gifts, she supposed. She pushed that thought out of her mind before she went on a thinking spree again.

"Right," she muttered. "Ibsen, same goes for you. Look for shiny things or whatever. You know how we are about technology."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied.

And so they went. Veronica entered a hangar with a side door that looked like its paint had barely even been eroded. Nevada can do that to you, she guessed. There were symbols still missing, true, but she could make out most of it. The first part read "AREA", but the rest was too faded to make out. They looked like numbers. The inside of the building itself was a lot like what she found at Nellis, only without all the Boomer junk in it. There weren't any planes or vertibirds inside, but the equipment used to maintain them was all there.

On the far side of the hangar she saw a series of doors, one of them with a sign above it. She moved closer and saw that it was as pristine as the day it was put there. "GENERAL O'NEILL". Without hesitation, she went inside and peeked around. She couldn't make out much in the fading daylight, but she could see that it was definitely an office. Everything was caked with dust and a few things had fallen over, but aside from that it seemed like nobody had been in here for a while. She could make out a couple of portraits hung on the wall, but it was too dark to see their faces. She could still read the nameplates, though, even if only barely. The first one read "COL JACK O'NEILL - RET. 1996". The second one "MAJ GEN CHARLES O'NEILL - RET. 2044". Grandfather and father, she guessed. One big happy family.

She turned on the light switch on a whim and surprisingly, it worked. the office was illuminated by a couple of faded fluorescent lights embedded into the ceiling and the contents of the office came into view. "Well, that's weird," she muttered.

She strolled carefully over to the fancy wooden desk that stood in front of a draped flag of the Old World, and took off her helmet. There was a computer terminal in front of the comfy chair with a black leatherbound notebook next to it that read "SGC" in embossed golden letters. Curious, she opened it and snooped around its contents. A lot of the pages had writing on them, but she could barely make anything out. Sighing, she turned around and started looking at the flag. It reminded her of Six, of Mr. House, and everyone else who wanted to bring America back. She grunted and started tugging on it. It's not like anyone would care if I took this down, she thought.

She stopped once she saw what was behind it. She dropped the flag and started talking into her radio. "Uh, guys? I think I found something."

"Funny," said Watkins' voice. "I was just about to tell you the same thing. This place is huge."

"Same here, Veronica," said Ibsen.

"Is it a door?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Watkins.

"No," said Ibsen.

"What's yours, Ibsen?"

"An underground data storage center. Power's still active, too."

"I was wondering about that," said Watkins.

"We may have found what we're looking for," continued Ibsen.

"I wouldn't say that just yet," said Veronica. "Keep looking around. Ibsen, see if you can open up the computers. Watkins and Cordoba, open that door on my count. Ready?"

"Ready," said Cordoba.

"One." Her hand hovered over a nearby lever, cleverly hidden behind a fishing trophy. Not clever enough.

"Two. Three. Go!"

She pulled the lever. The door slid open with a hiss of steam, and time seemed to slow down enough for her to play a little bit of triumphant music in her head. It opened up to reveal the classic Vault-Tec style Stairs That Go Down. Blinking lights, another door at the end, all that stuff. This time it's longer than usual. "And we're in business."

"It's open. Seems to be a hallway of some sort," said Cordoba. "We'll continue onwards. Watch yourself, Veronica."

"Always do," she said.

She started walking down the stairs, which seemed to go on forever. By the time she was at the end, her legs felt like they didn't want to stop walking. She opened the door and peeked inside. It was dark, she saw, and there weren't any lights on. "Be advised," she said. "It's dark down here."

"Affirmative," said Cordoba. "We're switching to night vision."

"Veronica," said Ibsen's voice. "The computers are up. Based on what information I could extract, this was some sort of Air Force facility. A lot of the data is encrypted, and it'll take some time for me to sort through it all. I've deactivated what I could only hope to be the facility's security systems, so you shouldn't run into any surprises there. Keep me informed."

"Copy that," said Cordoba.

"Gotcha," said Veronica.

She flicked on night vision mode and stood as the flood of green overwhelmed her sight, allowing her to see things in good old Computer Monochrome color scheme. The vault was much like the base upstairs, only with more dust everywhere. There were more doors and hallways, and she could see that most of them had signs that indicated where they came out - "HANGAR 1", "CLINIC", "ARMORY", and so on. Others simply led to more rooms inside, some of them with windows that exposed their boring functions - "PRESENTATION ROOM 1", "CONFERENCE ROOM A", and everything else she would have absolutely not liked spending hours on. If this was a vault, it was probably full of anal-retentive dwellers because everything was inexplicably cleaner than she expected it to be.

"This is kind of creepy," she remarked. The stillness of it all made her expect something to come out and attack her. A robot? Ghoul? Desert lakelurks?

"Scared?" commented Watkins. "It's still on, you know."

"Shut up," she retorted. "Shouldn't you be searching or something?"

She shut up and tried to remain off the comms for a while until she found a group of elevators.

"Ibsen," she said. "Any controls for the elevators up there?"

"Yes, hang on," said Ibsen. "I'm turning on power to whatever I can. Stand by."

She waited. A second later, a flash of light came over her, blinding her and causing her to mutter a bunch of curses. She hurriedly slid off her helmet and breathed in, blinking a few times as her vision returned to her. "Can you please count first before you do that? You almost blinded me!"

"Sorry," he replied. She could hear Watkins giggling.

"Shut up, Watkins."

"I don't know how far down the elevators go, but it seems that power is absent in most of the lower levels. You're going to have to restore it manually and reestablish the connection to the central controls."

"I'll go ahead and to that. Cordoba, you found anything?"

"Robots," he said. "Old models, deactivated."

"That's helpful. Keep going."

"Understood."

"I'm going to head over to the lower levels. If anyone outside comes calling that's not part of us, go ahead and kill them with the 'bots or whatever."

"Intrusion isn't likely, Veronica. This facility is way out-"

"Ah," interjected Veronica. "Sssh. Just... keep watch before bad things happen and it's all your fault."

"...Right. Good luck."

"Don't need it," she quipped. She pushed the down button near one of the elevators and one of them opened. She went inside and started looking at all the buttons. There seemed to be around thirty levels to this place. She pushed the second-lowest button and put her helmet back on. The silence continued to unnerve her, so she started humming a couple of songs that she recalled from radio. The light turned off when she was in the middle of Blue Moon. She used a flashlight instead of her helmet's apparatus just in case another surprise power-return occurred.

The elevator opened, still empty. She stepped outside and started peeking around. She almost jumped when she saw the blinking red light of a sentrybot staring straight at her. It had its weapons raised, but from what she could tell it seemed to be sleeping. She wanted to poke it, but the little voice inside her told her that wouldn't be a good idea. For once, she listened to it.

Once she was past the first hallway, that the walls were covered with yellow-and-black hazard stripes and illuminated by the dim light of silent sirens. The vibe it was giving her was less than encouraging, but turning back would make Watkins right and that was a risk she wasn't willing to take. She pressed onwards until she found a door that said "CONTROL ROOM". She opened it and went inside.

As far as control rooms went, this seemed to follow the standard layout. Although she wasn't at Hopeville, she felt that this was the kind of room they used over there. One of the walls was dominated by a bulletproof glass window that led to nothing but a big wall of metal and the other one was dominated by bulletin boards, monitors, and other equipment that would no doubt provide a whole lot of information to whoever worked here. There were computers lined up everywhere along with various levers and buttons that no doubt would do something if she just fiddled with them. She was only looking for one, though. She found it near the big central computer, a tantalizing thing covered in hazard stripes that said "WINDOW". She took a seat in the chair in front of it, pulled the lever, and waited.

The metallic groan of the blast doors retracting reminded her of a yawning super mutant. She walked over to the window and saw what was beyond it. There were more hazard stripes, lining the walls, and in front of it was a giant, stonelike ring that seemed to have a ramp leading up to it. The ring itself seemed to be divided into a lot of sections, and from what she could see some of them were constellations, others were symbols that she couldn't quite make out. Curious, she raised an eyebrow and spoke into her comms. "Ibsen?" she asked. "Ibsen? Hello?"

"Veronica!" he replied. It wasn't through the radio, though - it was through the facility's intercom. "Veronica, I found something. You might wanna see this."

Veronica scrambled to find the nearest intercom and started speaking into it. "I was about to tell you the same thing," she said, rubbing her chin. "We've been using that expression a lot today. What's up?"

"You won't believe it," he said, barely containing his excitement. "This facility is housing a powerful device - something that could be the key to solving all of our problems. Look around the lower levels for a ring-shaped object, roughly six point seven meters in diameter-"

"Wait wait wait," said Veronica. She turned around, walking back to the window and staring at the thing. Her eyes widened and she ran back to the intercom. "Well, howdy doodee, I think I just found it."

"You what?!" said Ibsen. "Stay there, I'm coming over!"

"Oooh boy," she said. "Bring the others with you, they're going to want to see this. Come to think of it, McNamara's going to want to have a look at this, too. And Schuler, and Taggart, and... Well, basically everyone."

"This is huge, Veronica!" exclaimed Ibsen. "This Stargate could be the key to saving the Wasteland!"

"Hold up. The what now?"

"I'll explain later. Right now, we've got to send the message back to the Elder. We've found our new home."