Alright, so a quick foreword,

Yes this is A sequel, but it isn't THE sequel. It's tangential. Something I have to get off my back before we can get to the really big stuff because it'll nag at me otherwise. (that, and after the next big one if it plays out right, the entire landscape of the wasteland will have changed, and this is a story which works best before that happens.)

So bear with me, and I'll try to run through this one quickly.

Oh, and a quick shout-out to Natasel who gave me the idea for the opening discussion.

Aqua Vitae 1

Everything about scribe Bigsley, from his clothes, to his facial features, to his attitude, sloped hopelessly downwards. Even his career opportunities had taken a plunge over the last five years. His eyebrows appeared permanently set into the expression of a young child having just been denied a lollipop His eyes were sunken inwards, and far too close together. Combined with the effect of his hooked nose, he was left a face which made his subordinates' eyes water.

He stepped forward and rapped a long piece of wood against a blackboard. It was occupied with a single drawing: two dots, one labeled 'A' the other labeled 'B'. An arrow had been drawn between them.

"Alright," he said in a depressed voice, "Here's our job: get Aqua Pura from point A to point B without having our caravans attacked. Ideas people?"

He stared across the dozen or so faces which had been assembled in a small side-room in project purity. The team was made up of scientists, scribes, and a few interested parties from Megaton and Rivet City. A man with auburn hair and a goatee raised his hand.

"Mister Dargon?" Bigsley asked.

"We could pump it through the pre-war pipes," the scientist suggested, "we'd have to collect a lot of abraxo and pump it through the system to clear it out, but those pipes reach as far as Canterbury Commons and Evergreen Mills. You can get water out of the other end, which means there's still some pressure in the pipes, so clearly they're still intact."

"We'd have to find blueprints for the pipes…" one scribe mused, "I can send someone over to the Arlington library and tell Yearling to start looking for it."

"We also don't know just how strong those pipes are," One scribe said, "sure they hold up now, but there's no strain on the system. What happens after they're repressurized?

Rivet City security officer Lepelletier cleared her throat, "What about the subway tunnels?"

"Not an option," A female scribe by the name of Vallincourt said, "They don't reach across the wasteland. And there's too many blocked passages. We'd spend more time digging than transporting."

"It also requires time to secure the tunnels and fortify them." Paladin Tristan added, "Don't forget that the supermutants and raiders use them too."

"All the more reason to take them over." Lepelletier said.

"If you're willing to volunteer people to man all the stations and exits, then sure, go for it." Tristan told her. The security officer subsided.

"Besides," Alex Dargon said, "That still requires that Brahmin carry the stuff."

"What about the Talon company?" one scribe asked, "Maybe we can subcontract the water transportation to them. They're equipped enough to deal with the raiders and mutants."

"Yeah, but they aren't exactly an ethically sound organization." Dargon said.

"So what?" Lepelletier asked, "If they'll carry the water, then they'll carry the water. Maybe it's a way to bring them back into the fold."

"The trouble with paying mercs," Bigsley commented, "Is that the expenses inevitably increase with the amount of risk involved."

"Maybe we could charge for the water." A scribe said, to general dissent, "I know not every town has a lot of caps, but they must all have something to offer."

Another scientist named Daniel Agincourt cleared his throat, "I still don't understand why we have to bring it to the other settlements at all. I mean what does a place like Bigtown have to offer in return?"

"You and I know better than anyone that it's not about that at all. It never was!" Alex Dargon snapped, to Bigsley's surprise. Dargon was normally an extremely calm person, "That was never James' vision for it."

"James wasn't the only one working on the project! Why does he get all the credit?"

"Doctor Li wouldn't have approved either!" Dargon defended, "and neither do I. You're outvoted three to one. The project was created for all men, women, and children no matter who they were or where they came from or what they have to give in return."

"We're living in a post-apocalyptic hell," Agincourt persisted, "Now's not the time for socialist bullshit!"

"Tell that to James' son." Alex Dargon muttered. Several of the listeners laughed.

"Yes, I thought we'd get around to him eventually." Bigsley told to the room at large, "I want you all to know that it is the job of the Warrior sect of the Brotherhood of Steel to handle the Lone Wanderer. Anything he may say, do, or believe about Project Purity should have no bearing whatsoever on the outcome of this meeting. If he has any problems with it, you direct him straight to Star-Paladin Lyons. I want that understood."

"I'm glad someone else sees this the way I do," Agincourt said happily.

The wall imploded with a deafening sound, sending fragments of plaster scattering throughout the room, and tossing both the chairs and their occupants against the far wall. Bigsley saw the world spin. His head hit the far wall, and blackness closed in.

Bigsley opened his eyes and blinked, trying to clear them. A thick, heavy layer of dust hung in the air, making him cough and choke. There were no real shapes to speak of, just different blobs of colour. Splashes of light and dark. He tried to rise, but fell over. A dark shape shimmered over his head, burbling noises at him as if her were underwater. He tried to understand, but couldn't make the sounds out over the ringing in his own ears.

Something gripped his shoulders, dragging him through the splotchy world. It brightened suddenly, and the sounds grew slightly clearer. He was beginning to recover. People were shouting, but he couldn't hear what. The giant blue of the sky was broken by a large billowing cloud of smoke. His rescuer set him down on hard pavement and disappeared. After a short time, another shape hovered over him. Like an image coming slowly into focus, the blur condensed into a brotherhood medic. She was dressed in full brotherhood power armour.

"Are you alright?" the woman asked.

Bigsley looked around. They had dragged him out to the bridge and laid him down amongst other wounded. Many of them were screaming in agony. Many more weren't making any noise at all. Bigsley sat up and stared at the rising cloud of black smoke billowing from the center of the Jefferson memorial. The pipes and intricate network of walkways surrounding the space between the memorial and the pool had completely disappeared. The pool itself was covered in detritus and floating debris.

The waters of life had ceased to flow.