A/N: I own nothing except the laptop I wrote this story on.
It had been an uncharacteristically hot summer.
Usually around this time of the year there were at least a couple of days where the clouds would come rolling in from beyond, offering momentary relief from the scorching heat. Once upon a time, there had been a legend of a so-called "dry heat," where you weren't left feeling like you were going to melt in the unflinching sun. Those days were long past, though: every hot summer day in the Commonwealth felt as though it was going to melt you, with clothes sticking to increasingly sweaty skin.
And this summer was uncharacteristically hot.
At least, that was what he was always told. Truthfully, he didn't care one way or another. To a ghoul like him, every summer was hot. It probably had something to do with the fact that ruined skin wasn't exactly the best at keeping UV rays away. Of course, considering the radiation from the years after the Great War hadn't killed him, he highly doubted that a couple days in the sun were going to do the trick. But even he had to note the slightly reserved nature of things.
The guards were all watching the wall, their scoped rifles studiously scanning the horizon for signs of enemy activity. Back in the day, things weren't so tight: a travelling raider pack was never stupid enough to launch a suicidal attack on the impregnable Wall, and most of the wildlife stayed away from Diamond City on principle.
But there was a new enemy out there in the Commonwealth. One that didn't necessarily play by the rules that everyone and everything was used to.
He walked through the town square of Diamond City, and stopped in front of the armory. He cleared his throat, and within seconds the owner popped his head up and out from behind the desk.
"Ay dios mio, bit of a hot day, isn't it Zinn?" Arturo asked. He was sweating a little bit, some glistening beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. He wiped them off with a slightly smudged hankerchief, and gave a shrug. What can I say? was written all over the gesture.
Zinn just smirked.
"So I've heard. You smoothskins never really learned to handle it that well, did you?"
"Well, Zinn, I suppose when we decide to just start peeling our skin off so that we can fit in with you, I'm sure we'll get around to it. Just gotta convince some of the prettier people in the Commonwealth that that's an okay goal, and then you might get some traction."
Zinn pretended to look hurt.
"Are you suggesting that I'm not the prettiest person in the Commonwealth, Arturo?" Zinn asked.
Arturo laughed.
"Zinn, don't take this the wrong way, amigo, but you're so ugly that when you cry your tears run down the back of your head because they can't bear the sight of your face."
Zinn just stared impassively at the gun salesman, and then finally cracked a small smile.
"I just want you to know that I'm trying very hard not to be amused by that one." Zinn admitted. Arturo just winked.
"So what brings you out of the schoolhouse?" He asked. "Heard you and Zwicky are holed up in there close to all day, every day." He shook his head. "That ain't healthy, man."
"I know." Zinn said. "I'm already over two hundred years old, though. Thre's not really anything that I can do to myself to damage: I'm already kind of damaged goods."
"What about Zwicky?" Arturo asked. "I hear that you're basically giving him a crash course in legal history in there."
"I'm afraid that I can't discuss that, Arturo. Attorney confidentiality and all."
"Please." Arturo said. He took out a small sidearm from under the desk, safely ejected any and all rounds in the gun, and began to clean the interior of the weapon. "You always come out here and talk to me, because you know that no one else wants to talk to the two of you until we get a verdict. No offense, hombre, but you and Zwick are kind of pariahs."
"I'm a ghoul. I'm used to it."
"But he ain't." Arturo said, pointing over to the schoolhouse.
"He's a schoolteacher." Zinn said. "He's used to being bossed around by parents and dealing with unruly kids that don't like him."
"That's a different thing, man." Arturo said. "Kids hate teachers because they think that's what they're supposed to do. And most of them actually don't. And parents deep down just want the best for their kids, because they think that their teacher is someone that needs to be properly motivated. But defense attorneys for the Institute?" He paused, and shook his head. "Man. That's a whole different kind of hate there. That's…I dunno. That's visceral shit, man."
"So why do you talk to us, then?" Zinn asked, raising a mottled eyebrow. Arturo shrugged.
"Maybe Mayor Pitt is paying me on the side so that you two have someone to talk to."
"Then you can tell Mayor Pitt that as soon as we're done with the trial of the Institute, he can look forward to bribery charges."
"Kidding, Zinn. I was kidding." Arturo kept cleaning the inside of the gun, and then stopped to look Zinn in the eye. "I guess I just want you two to know that you got someone, you know? Because I know that the two of you are just being asked to do a job. You would have turned it down if you could, but there's no one that could do it in your place, so you got the shit detail. The least I can do is remind you that you aren't alone. Might go crazy in that schoolhouse."
Zinn cracked a small smile.
"Well, I'm glad that at least someone around here isn't giving us the wide berth." Zinn finally said. "So I appreciate that…even if the only person that's willing to talk to us is the local gun dealer." Arturo chuckled at that, and then Zinn raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you worried that people are gonna start avoiding you if they find out that you like talking to us right now?"
"What, me worry?" Arturo asked. "Somehow I highly doubt that the people are going to stop talking to the only gun runner in town. Especially in today's troubled times."
There was an awkward pause.
"You heard anything, lately?" Zinn finally offered, breaking the silence. "Because, you know, Zwicky and I are kind of in a box right now. Don't really have the time to catch up on the news."
"I haven't heard much." Arturo shrugged. "I just know that the big fight right now is around Jamaica Plain. You might have better luck asking Miss Wright. She managed to get back home last night."
"Piper's back?" Zinn asked.
"I know. Crazy, right?" Arturo asked. He looked around, and then leaned in close. "You know, I don't think it's smart for her to keep running off to some of the warfront places the way she does. I mean, I get that she wants the Publick to keep running in a time of war, but after a certain point her luck might run out."
"I agree…" Zinn muttered. "I'll see you later, Arturo."
"Hang in there, chief." Arturo said. "And say hi to Edna for me. She was really nice when she was out shopping yesterday."
…
"EXTRA! EXTRA! FIGHT RAGES ON IN JAMAICA PLAIN! OUTCOME UNCERTAIN!"
If nothing else, Zinn had to admire the lungs on the younger Wright girl. Nat was tireless in her job, and still managed to find time to go to school in the morning. She was running a special part-time education deal, with Zwicky sending her assignments to take home so that she could keep up with her classmates. Normally, that might be a recipe for disaster, but Nat's sister was Piper Wright. If there was anyone that respected honesty and integrity moreso than Piper Wright, Zinn had yet to meet them.
At least seven people walked up to the front of the Publick office building and deposited the sales price for the daily paper. He had heard that once upon a time, the Publick Occurences was a struggling little pipe dream that Piper had started a long time ago for little more than righteous indignation. Now it was a respected and profitable newspaper. That was something else. And she had made enough money to not only pay her rent for the next six months outright, but also hire another copywriter. Jethro the retired Minuteman now actually got a small salary (instead of doing it for free as well as room and board) for both his work on fixing "Baby" (Piper's beloved printing press) as well as his new job as a local reporter. He wasn't as good as Piper (and he was the first to admit it), but he was a sound reporter that was good at reporting on local Diamond City news. Thus, that freed Piper up to pursue some of the "bigger" Commonwealth stories. Zinn could remember when there were legitimate news organizations: The old Boston Globe came to mind. Maybe one day, after all of this craziness settled, he might give Piper a push in that direction. The girl was going places.
Assuming she, as well as any of them, made it out of all of this alive. Which was not a certainty.
He walked up to the porch of the Publick, and cleared his throat. Nat turned to look at him.
"Hi there, Mr. Ghoul!" She half-shouted. He flinched, and gestured for her to lower the volume. "Oh, sorry. I was using my 'newsgirl' voice, wasn't I?" She asked.
"Little bit." Zinn said.
"What can I do for you? Would you like an early copy of tomorrow's paper?" Nat asked. "I think that Sis and Jethro are printing it out right now!"
"No thanks, Nat. But I would like a moment to speak with your sister, if at all possible. I heard that she got in late last night?" Zinn asked.
"Yeah, she did…" Nat said. "I'm glad. Though I think that she's headed back out to the Castle in about two days. It's like I barely get to see her…" She said, somewhat sadly. Zinn offered a smile.
"It's going to be okay, you know." He said. "Piper is a tough gal. And she's smart. So hang in there, and before you know it she's gonna be back here and things won't be as crazy." He clapped her on the shoulder supportively, and then walked inside the offices of the Publick.
Piper was at her desk in the back corner of the first floor, clacking away on a typewriter. She'd only recently received the thing: roughly two weeks ago, or about a month after the fall of the Atom Cats garage (which most people were marking as the "start" of the Quincy Insurgency), there'd been a care package of things sent to Diamond City from the Castle. Mostly it was medical supplies and food. But amidst all of the essentials, Piper had received a small bundle. When she'd opened it up, there was that typewriter as well as at least a year's supply of ink. Attached was a handwritten note.
Stay golden, Piper.
-N.
Needless to say, the quality of the paper seriously improved and the time of production was greatly reduced compared to before.
Zinn graciously knocked on the door.
"Yeah?" Piper asked, not turning around.
"Figured I might stop by here, seeing as how the free press is the only place an honest lawyer can stop by these days." Zinn offered.
Piper sighed, and swiveled around in her chair. She crossed one leg over the other, and cross her arms over her chest.
"Flattery isn't going to get you a favorable write-up in the paper, Zinn." She said. Even from halfway across the building, Zinn could see that there were bags forming under her eyes.
"When was the last time that you slept more than two hours at a time?" Zinn asked.
"I'm fine, Zinn." Piper said.
"Don't look it."
"Well, that's a wonderful thing to say to a woman, isn't it?" Piper asked. She then winced, and rubbed her shoulder. She glanced underneath her coat, and then groaned in disappointment. "Jethro! I need help again!"
There was a groan, and coming from the other room walked the old man. Jethro had been in the Minutemen up until shortly before the signing of the Commonwealth Accords, and he was now enjoying a much less stressful (and better paying, he'd joked) job as both mechanic for "Baby" as well as municipal reporter (at least that was the title that Piper had bestowed on him).
"Shoulder acting up again, Miss Piper?" Jethro asked.
"Yeah. Got anything?" Piper asked.
"A few things." Jethro muttered. He walked over to the kitchen counter, and rustled through the cupboads until he found a doctor's bag. He then walked over towards Piper, who had taken her coat off to reveal her sleeveless tank top.
"Jesus, Piper." Zinn muttered.
There was a patchwork of gauze and ace wrap bandage wrapped around her upper right shoulder. It was bleeding through, so whatever it was that had happened was clearly serious. Gently, Jethro undid the bandages, and then began to pour alcohol onto the wound. Piper hissed in pain, but said nothing. And from there, Jethro began rustling through the doctor's bag.
"Got some Med-X to help prevent infection, but we're running a little low on Stimpak medicine."
"Just give me some Med-X. I'll set the bottle down by the desk as I work."
Jethro looked over at her, and raised an eyebrow.
"You're only supposed to take one a day."
Piper glared.
"Dr. Sun is nuts if he thinks I'm only taking one Med-X a day for fucking shrapnel in my shoulder, Jethro. I'm tired and I'm hurt. And until the que for surgeries opens up, the best I can get is pills. Now gimme."
Sighing, Jethro handed her three pills. Piper popped one right away, and then set the other two on the desk next to her. She downed it with a glass of water, and then turned over towards Zinn.
"Probably should have looked away, Zinn. Rude to look at a woman undress."
"I've seen worse." Zinn said. And then he frowned. "You're awfully jumpy, Piper." And then he shrugged. "And I can't imagine that that shrapnel wound is something that the General knows about."
"Maybe you should mind your own business." Piper said, glaring. Zinn wasn't cowed.
"And maybe you shouldn't keep sticking your head in warzones, Piper.' He fired back. "Your sister is worried sick about you, and I imagine that that General fellow would hit the roof if he knew that someone he cared deeply about went and got herself banged up like that."
"Blue doesn't need to know. He's got enough to worry about."
"So you're just not going to tell him? Yeah, that will end well."
"Okay, did you just come here to lecture me?" Piper snapped. "Because I don't have the time, Zinn."
"Originally, I was coming here to ask you what's going on in the world because you aren't here that often since the fall of the Garage, but now that I see you like this my curiosity makes me really want to know what's going on in the world. So spill it. Because hanging onto this stuff is gonna chew you up."
Piper's frown softened slightly. And then she looked at the ground.
"Bomb went off at Jamaica Plain."
"Yeah? I heard the fighting there is pretty bad." Zinn asked.
"It's terrible." Piper said. "Complete stalemate. And not from lack of trying. We've got the technical advantage but…god, they've got the numbers. And they're crazy." She looked Zinn in the eye. "I was interviewing a soldier in the middle of a battlefield, as a medic was trying to tend to a few of the fallen. There was this one Quincy boy lying on the ground, dying I think. And then the medic walked over to him to help him. As soon as he got close…" She closed her eyes. "The Quincy boy was hiding a grenade under his leg. Took him and the medic with it. The soldier I was interviewing managed to shield me from most of the blast but…not all of it."
Zinn was silent.
"That's war, Piper." He said. "It ain't clean, that's for sure. And especially when you got an enemy that hates you as bad as they hate you all."
"I just don't get it." Piper admitted. And then she sighed again. "It's been about a month and a half, and both nothing and everything has happened. I haven't seen Blue since I left the Castle the day that the Brotherhood left the Commonwealth. It's like…it's like everything burst forth from a dam or something. And I've lost count of how many times I've had to hear explosions or gunfire or screams and shouts. Nothing's been gained, and just…I wonder how he's handling it all. I hope he is." She looked out the window.
"Who, the General?" Zinn asked. "He's handling it the best he can, I'm sure. After all, he was a member of the old United States Army back before the Great War. Captain, I think."
"How…how do you know that?" Piper asked.
"Some might call me a snoop, but I prefer historian." Zinn said. "Did some searching. Found an old military archive database and searched it: a 'Nathanael Greene' served in the New England Commonwealth about two hundred years ago. He was supposed to make a speech at some veteran's dinner the night that the bombs ended up falling. He's no stranger to war, Piper. Probably a little tired of it, though."
"I'm tired of it and this is my first one." Piper said. She then turned to look at Zinn. "What did you come here to ask me about, though? Because I know that you wanted more than just to know how the war is going."
"I wanted to know if the Publick is covering the trial."
Piper groaned and rubbed her eyes.
"God, Zinn. I don't know. I can't, because I'm busy with war reporting. I have to leave tomorrow to go visit Outpost Zimonja because they're about to deploy their first group of soldiers down to the Castle. And then after that I have to travel to Bunker Hill and get a connecting caravan out to The Slog, because there's a story or two to be written there as well. And I can't have Jethro do it, because he's busy covering everything else in the city."
"Piper…" Zinn said. He took a step forward, and then stopped. Technically, Piper hadn't invited him inside. "…What else will there be in the city when the trial finally begins? What will people be talking about at the Dugout? What will the word on the street be? We've got about 50 people who are charged with crimes ranging from reckless endangerment to kidnapping to murder with depraved indifference to human life! What else could Jethro write about that people would even wish to read?"
Piper was silent.
"Why do you want us covering this, Zinn?" Piper asked. "What's in it for you?"
"For starters?" Zinn asked. As soon as Piper nodded, he spoke again. "Well, for starters, maybe the idea that this is a matter of public interest. No matter which way this trial goes, it's gonna be important to have someone covering it all. And not slanted one way or the other. I can't be reliable, because I'm naturally going to be defensive of my clients. And the prosecutor lady can't be partial, because she's naturally trying to prove that my clients are guilty. There is a golden mean that can exist."
"But…Zinn…" Piper said. "The Institute is guilty. There's no getting around that."
"And maybe so." Zinn said. "But that doesn't mean that the first instinct we should all have is to line every last one of them up against a wall and shoot 'em. The General and I come from a time when that was pretty close to reality, so I think I'd rather avoid repeating that."
Piper was quiet for a moment. And then she looked Zinn in the eye.
"The Publick will be there tomorrow to hear the preliminary hearings."
"Thank you, Miss Wright." Zinn said. He turned around to leave.
"Zinn?"
He turned back to face her.
"What is it, Piper?"
"I want you to know something." Piper crossed her arms. "I know that you and Horatio Zwicky are good men. And I know that you're taking this job because no one else will and because I know what kind of world you and Blue and the others are trying to build. And I will always respect that. But off the record?" She sighed. "I spent a good chunk of my adult life trying to fight this monstrosity, and even got briefly banned from my home because of one of their synth infiltrators didn't like me."
Her look was positively withering.
"The idea that any of them could walk away from all that they've done without facing punishment makes me physically ill."
Zinn nodded.
"Good night, miss Wright." He tipped his fedora, and walked out the door.
…
It was getting close to the end of the day as he returned to the schoolhouse. He heard something in the kitchen: it was most likely Edna working on dinner. He walked in himself, and cleared his throat to get her attention.
"Oh, hello Mr. Zinn! Did your day go well?" Edna asked.
"Good enough, Edna. Good enough. Where's your husband? Upstairs?"
"Yes. He is busy working on your case. Tomorrow is the big day, is it not?"
"One of many, but yes. It's a big day."
Zinn reached into the cabinet, and pulled out what he was looking for. He then sighed, and walked up the stairs.
Horatio Zwicky was sitting at his teachers' desk, poring over countless documents. On the blackboard behind him, there were countless notes and annotations etched in chalk as well as sheets of looseleaf that were pinned onto the wall. It was a smorgasbord of thought and plans. He looked positively exhausted.
"How did it go?" He asked Zinn.
"The Publick will be there. Probably not Piper, though. She's pretty burned about the Institute in general, and I think that the stress of being a war reporter is starting to get to her." Zinn said.
"That doesn't really surprise me." Zwicky said. He sighed. "Oh, merciful heavens. What have we gotten ourselves into?"
"A good old scrap, my friend." Zinn said. He sat down across the desk from Zwicky, and looked his friend over. Bags under the eyes, clothes rustled: he looked utterly spent. "You should stop for the night. The preliminary hearing is not the big part. The big part is the actual trial itself, which might not happen for a week or so. We've got a lot of people to get through, after all."
"Are you sure that we can do what you planned?"
"Safe bet." Zinn said. "If nothing else, let me make the argument when the time comes. I've got a little more legal experience than you, if only for the fact that I spent at least three decades reading legal books while I was hiding out in the bombed out ruins of Yale."
"…Yale?"
"Forget it, before your time." Zinn sighed. And then he held up what he'd brought up from the kitchen. It was a bottle of unopened wine, some of the best stuff that had been found in the Commonwealth.
"Take some. Think of it as a cheers."
"Sure…" Zwicky said, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip. "But what are we giving a cheer for?"
"A drink before the war."
"But…the war already started. It's been raging in Jamaica Plain for a while now." Zwicky said, somewhat confused. Zinn just shook his head.
"That's their war."
He tapped the sheets of paper on the desk, as well as the official letterhead pamphlet delivered to their office a few weeks ago. On the top was printed lettering:
The People vs. The Institute, et al
"This is our war."
A/N: And I return! It's a sort of sequel to Zugzwang, but more of an interquel between Zugzwang and my as-of-yet-unnamed conclusion to what I now call "The Commonwealth Trilogy." Though to be fair, I think that this story is worthwhile to add as an official piece as well. Think of it as, I dunno, "The Commonwealth Tetralogy." This story is all about the trial of the Institute Remnant, something that was alluded to in both Détente as well as Zugzwang. And I have continued my streak of conveniently smarty-pants titles with the title for this one. It does mean something that relates to the point of this story, I promise you.
One last note: other than Piper and maybe another companion, don't expect a lot of other characters from Fallout 4 to pop in. They're off fighting a war, after all. But I promise that we'll get to them. All in good time. All in good time…
See you next time!