~ ~ ~
At the end of the catwalk was a computer station; beyond that, still reachable, was a tomb. Gunnar thought of Lenin, embalmed and under glass for generations to venerate. He limped to the glass casing and looked in.
"Is that you, Mr. House?" he whispered. There were no speakers here, no great monitors for the master of New Vegas to communicate. The body inside the tomb — sarcophagus, Gunnar corrected himself — looked withered and dried-up as any mummy removed from the Valley of the Kings. Yet it must still be alive; the tubes and lights and pumps worked, breathing for it, moving its blood, however thin that must be after all this time.
So this is how you survived, Gunnar thought. When your body began to fail, maybe even earlier, you put yourself in here. That must be the apparatus to connect your brain to the computers… which is why you only talk through them, and why only robots enter the Lucky 38.
~ ~ ~
This concludes Part 3 of A Gun for Barns, with 93,389 words. I'm taking a week off for travel and then Part 4 will continue the story.
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