I do not own Fallout, the Fallout universe, nor any characters originating from the games of Fallout in publication or unreleased. No profit is being generated. I am just a man telling a story.
Between Two Cities
Chapter 1: A Time to Act
Operative Quintus Schieber, who preferred to go by his family name or Quin, stood at the entrance of a dilapidated building with Brotherhood of Steel Knight Jamie Bors. They moved inside the old governmental building, built originally in the Twentieth Century and redone in the Twenty –First to look more akin to the style of the D.C. metro area by removing the glass walls for those of marble, concrete, and columns. The electrical grid for the building seemed to not be working as the only light came from the fission generators the Enclave science team brought in before their untimely demise. Their bodies filled the building as they did outside in the large parking lot around their vertibirds. The Operative and Knight turned on the head lamps of their T45d power armor, originally commissioned and issued by the United States of America and recovered two hundred years after the Great War in the sub levels of the building known as Pentagon. Dust, mold and debris were all over the building and even floated in the air when ever their armored boots hit the ground.
Behind a semi – circular reception desk stood an illuminated golden eagle on a blue background. The Enclave had specifically positioned two flood lights to make it glow, however the golden eagle emblem had worn throughout the two hundred years the building stood in the wastes. The Geiger counter built into the power armor warned the Brotherhood of Steel members that there were low levels of radiation still in the building. At the reception desk the Enclave agents and soldiers had placed a terminal hooked up to a generator. There were two bodies behind the desk, both killed by the same weapon that flash fried everyone outside the building. Several soldiers in Advanced Power Armor Mk II lay on the ground and debris in odd positions, marking the spot where they had died from whatever powerful weapon was hidden in this place.
The sickening burnt skin still smelled as it wrapped tight around the skeletal remains. Schieber looked to Bors, who nodded, as they both drew their weapons and made sure they were loaded. Trip also went weapons hot, though found no immediate targets.
"This place…why are there so many Enclave," asked Schieber as Bors walked over the terminal on the desk and pulled the dead Enclave officer off the keyboard and chair.
The terminal was working independently from the long dead operator for two years, attempting to decrypt data, "this place has got to be like… Mariposa or the Citadel. The encryption software is so strong that Enclave tech hasn't cracked it yet."
"Trip, do a scan of the building," ordered Schieber as he calmly scanned the hallways to see some Enclave flood lights and more bodies.
"First floor, entrance level, visitor center and gift shop; second floor, human resources and accounting; third floor, administration and public conference rooms," recited trip as if reading from a brochure.
"What is this building, Trip," asked Bors as he interrupted the robot, uncertain how this robot knew so much he reverted to his distrust of any remote resemblance of sentience in machines.
"National Security Agency Headquarters, Fort Meade, Maryland," replied the robot in its programed light feminine voice.
"How can you tell all this, Trip," asked Schieber curiously as Bors was thinking of shooting the augmented Mister Gutsy.
"Floating Gate Metal – Oxide- Semiconductor Field – Effect Transistor, the recorded information was placed in the building for synthetic identification," replied the robot as it read the stored digital packets left in the building as an identifying tag.
"What information does this Floaty Gate thing give you access too, Trip," asked Bors as he lowered his weapon a little.
"General history of the National Security Agency, weekly cafeteria schedules, and general information," replied Trip as it read the data packets, "all information concerning surveillance, cryptanalysis, cryptography, and the United States of America's information systems are classified to non – NSA agents and personnel without proper security clearance."
"How big is this facility," asked Schieber, as he pushed Bors to sit down as the Knight was upset with the machine.
"The complex is two million, six hundred and thirty – five thousand, five hundred and ninety – one square feet," replied the Trip.
"Trip, how can that be, this building does not have enough rubble around it to suggest it used to be that large," Schieber said as the robot hovered silently, "Trip, answer me."
"Information is classified," answered the robot.
"Waste of circuits and bolts," yelled out Bors in frustration.
"Trip, is there anyone one left alive in the building," asked Quin as he held Jamie back from taking a swing at the hovering robot.
"Yes, the embedded chips of several staff members seem to be active and showing health signs," said the robot as it used the still active NSA system to locate internal personnel similar to emergency response rescue operation, "who do you have a specific inquiry about?"
"We would like to meet them," said Schieber politely, hoping that being nice would make things work his way but forgetting that the machine was not swayed by human temperament.
"Querying local host…querying…querying…local sever host Secure Transmission Unite designation two was unable to connect," answered the robot as it swiveled on its thruster.
"Where would be the communication room," asked Schieber with a sigh.
"Pay phones are located to the right hand side of the entrance hall," the robot was monotone in its response.
"No, you stupid machine," Bors was snide and angered.
"Trip, is there any place in this building that would be like a control center," asked Quin as he too was getting agitated with the robot.
"Information classified," replied Trip in its light feminine voice.
Quin rolled his eyes as he looked to Bors, "foot reconnaissance?"
"Room – to – room, door – to – door," answered Jamie Bors as he made a threatening motion to the machine that just hovered there, "stay put, Trip, you fucking tin can on a string."
"Jamie, you were okay with it a few days ago," commented Schieber as they both walked down the illuminated left hallway.
"The machine needs to get upgraded…or downgraded, yes, that's what it needs…no voice transmitter at all," grumbled Bors as he checked his rifle was loaded for the umpteenth time, Schieber still only had his side arm, "it's like Valincourt programmed it to piss me off."
Opening a double door and checking the room to see it was a public cafeteria, the Operative looked upward, "oh thank the spirits," exclaimed Schieber as he rushed off to a pantry and ripped the cabinet door off the hinge, "the shelf life of cram is over two hundred years, right?"
"Take a dose of Rad – X before you eat that crap," warned Bors as he tossed the limited amount of meds they had to the Operative.
"Beggars can't be choosers," answered Quin as he removed his helmet and popped a pill, tossing another can of cram to Bors, "eat up, we'll need the energy."
Despirt the radiation readings throughout the building, Bors and Schieber removed their helmets and art the aged irradiated cram. It would hurt them in the long run, but for the moment they did not care. The cram filled their bellies, prolonging their starvation. Beverages were available, irradiated water and warmed irradiated Nuka Cola; the coffee machine was busted. Sighing in fulfillment, they both stood up and put their helmets on and returned to searching room – by – room down the other corridor.
They came to an elevator shaft; Schieber used his crowbar to pry it open. The elevator was stopped on the top most possibly floor three levels above without power. Emergency breaks held it in place, there was a maintenance ladder built into the elevator shaft. The new servo in Bors' power armored leg allowed him to move down the ladder at the same speed of Schieber. They found the first underground entrance several stories below the main building. Quin swung out his leg to get a bit of a footing on the ledge and pried open the door with his crowbar as he wrapped his arm through the ladder.
Through the small gap, Quintus Schieber wedged his body to open the two shutters wider. Jamie climbed in with the Operative's assistance, the hallway they were in looked like it came from the lower portions of the Citadel. Gray concrete, metal walkways and exposed pipes were the décor, along with tons of dust and cob webs. The two operatives moved down the hallway, occasionally checking the side rooms to see what was inside. They soon found a stairwell and proceeded to check floor – by – floor. They found the first bodies on the third floor underground; the remains were nothing more than bones and moth eaten clothes. The remains began to increase, the size of the complex must have been vast to hold this many people at one time, by the fifth floor below the ground they found something more than bone and cloth.
Squatting in the middle of the hallway was a feral ghoul. The torn up blouse and skirt indicated that it once was a female human; there was even an identification lanyard around her, its, neck. But like all feral ghouls, she had lost her feminine characteristics, her hair, her mind, and most importantly her ability to function as a sentient being. She had been trapped in these lower levels for over two hundred years. Bors ended her suffering with a laser bolt to her radiation addled brain.
They continued for another three floors, having ended the suffering of ten feral ghouls, when a ring could be heard from an office that had power. Looking at each other, the two operatives followed the sound of the ring that came from a terminal. Bors and Schieber pushed the rolling chair with a skeleton in it out of the way and looked at the communication terminal that blinked and rang. The young Operative hit the enter key and the screen came to life in shades of green. Starring back at them was a grotesque face of a ghoul, though Schieber felt no ill will to the creatures his partner thought of them as remnants from the old world that should not be seen or heard.
"Thank the Lord," growled out the ghoul as he tried to straighten his bow tie and pat down his remaining strands of hair, "I've been waiting for the military to secure headquarters since October twenty – third."
"Err…," said Jamie as he looked to Quin, clearly wondering what was wrong with this ghoul.
"Lieutenant, I am sorry for having to put the facility in extreme lockdown, I hope it hasn't hindered your team too much. I am rerouting power to the elevator and sending it to your floor," continued the ghoul as he typed in the counsel, "god damn separatists, if the commies weren't bad enough, you know what I mean, Lieutenant? The elevator is programmed to take you to the forty – seventh floor, shouldn't take too long, much faster than taking the stairs… I look forward to seeing you in person."
The terminal went into a standby mode, Bors took off his helmet, scraggily and sweaty hair everywhere, "what the fuck is with the shuffler?"
"I think we just found out who was responsible for all the dead Enclave soldiers, officers and agents upstairs," Quin said in reference to the ghoul on the terminal.
"Okay, let's say the shuffler took out a whole Enclave outfit on his own," conceded Knight Jamie Bors, the sarcasm and disdain clear in his voice, "what the fuck did he use?"
"I think we're about to find out," said Schieber with a shrug, adding after a pause, "hopefully not on the same end of the barrel as those Enclave corpses."
Cristano Bael, Star Paladin of the east coast Brotherhood of Steel and operational leader for BIOS, was sitting in a private meeting with Elder Owyn Lyons. The Elder seemed reluctant to take the meeting, although he did send out his personal assistant to make the meeting private. The report from Point Lookout had arrived, it sat on the coffee table in front of the chair that held Lyons' ass. It stated that there was no way to confirm or deny the presence of Enclave in the Chesapeake. Likewise, the lack of news from the Commonwealth and its Ambassador frustrated matters even worse. The good faith between the government from the north east and the Brotherhood was getting strained at the worst possible time.
The Brotherhood of Steel needed to confirm the feasibility of the Commonwealth's claim that the Enclave was patrolling the Chesapeake with unknown intentions. Star Paladin Bael was becoming more than a thorn in Lyons' side. Sitting back in his arm chair, the Elder pondered as to what inspired the man sitting on the couch before him. He resigned himself that it was an error of pride and ego, common among those before their waning years. Cristano was a leader, but the man needed would soon find that leaders could still learn from their positions.
"Elder Lyons, when you created Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services a year ago, you put me in charge of its field operations. Leaving two of my men out in the wilderness, it irks me," Cristano Bael kept an even tone, "Knight Ban was able to end Paladin Nivi's entry in the Great Codex after twenty years of rusting and rotting at the bottom of the Mall trench. Please, sir, do not make me wait twenty years for confirmation of Schieber and Bors."
Lyons brushed behind his ear, "Star Paladin, your loyalty is something to be commended. Likewise, your tenacity is fierce and befitting your position. However, we cannot devote the operations of the Brotherhood from the current issue of the Enclave," Lyons did his best not to falter in his tone, "I am not the person you should come to with these requests. The Chain that Binds works both ways, and that particular link between both of us is Head Paladin Bruce."
"I do not have any issue with communicating with Head Paladin William Bruce; he is still reading files to catch up with operations and is not in a place to make such a weighted decision," stated Bael as he tried to minimalize his breaking of the Chain that Binds, "the direct communication and decisions I receive from you, Elder Lyons, are better than any middle man."
"Star Paladin, how you run BIOS is up to you and Scribe Yearling; but in this building, you will follow the Chain that Binds," ordered Lyons firmly, "is there anything else that needs to be talked about?"
"No, Elder Lyons, I will report to Head Paladin Bruce from here on," agreed Bael as Elder Lyons dismissed him.
With purpose, Bael strode to Head Paladin Bruce's temporary residence in the medical center as he was still recovering from his wounds suffered at the hands of the super mutants. Wearing ancient fatigues from an armed service long gone with a rank of Colonel with the silver Eagle's facing forward to his neck. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows as multiple intravenous lines were hooked up into his forearms and his chest was unbuttoned to allow Sawbones to monitor his heart rate. William Bruce was still strapped into his gurney to prevent him from rolling out of it or losing his balance. The Head Paladin nodded to the Star Paladin as he mindlessly rubbed the still fresh stumps. Bael stood at attention in front of his superior but did not move pass the doorway as he waited to be invited in.
"How have my Initiates been, Star Paladin," asked Bruce as he beckoned the operational leader of BIOS into the medical station.
"They're all first class Operatives now," answered Bael as Bruce held onto some files, "none more so than Quintus Schieber."
"Are you here to follow up on what happened in the meeting," questioned Bruse as his IV lines rattled a little.
"Knight Bors is of great stock, both men are assets to the Brotherhood of Steel," answered the Star Paladin as he stared into Bruce's light blue eyes," Schieber survived DuPont Circle…"
William Bruce slammed the file down on the rolling table near his gurney, "three of us survived that ambush at DuPont Circle…those Initiates that escaped were extremely lucky."
"I cannot fathom what you and the other two had to endure," empathized Bael as he turned the topic back to his lost Operatives, "but don't let Schieber and Bors go through the same fate."
"The Elders have already ruled on this, I am sorry, Bael," said Bruce with sincerity, "ad if you attempt to use the black operations team with Operative Roe, expect repercussions."
Upset that none of the leaders of the Brotherhood of Steel were willing to risk a rescue party because of the Enclave zeitgeist, he asked tersely, "is there anything else, if I may inquire, that you wish to impart on me, Head Paladin Bruce?"
"Let me make it clear, Star Paladin, I do not agree with the Elders decision but I am bound to respect it, up hold it, and enforce their codes," said Bruce with a mournful frown but a firm voice, a painful ache came to his stumps causing him to rub them as a remembrance that his legs no longer extended that far, he swore, "damn it."
"The mercenary team would be highly useful for a recovery mission, "wheedled Bael.
"I already said no," answered Bruce with a straight face, "the plan you and Yearling have put forward seems to be gaining merit among the Elders. I feel it is, pardon the irony, the best foot forward for discovering the true intentions of the Enclave. You have read the report, right?"
Bael held out his hand for the file asking to see it; reading it quickly, a surprised expression appeared on his face because Yearling had put his name on the brief while the majority of it where her own ideas, "and we are to embark on a covert naval expedition how? Head Paladin, I was not full abreast of this brief."
"That is for you and Yearling to discuss, but I would recommend that you become more up-to-date on this brief," suggested Head Paladin Bruce.
Bael nodded and asked permission to leave, William Bruce granted it to him. He hurried past all of the Brotherhood of Steel members, wasting no time as he left the Citadel. The sun hung lazily in the early afternoon sky shinning a hazy light on the plaza. Cristano moved with purpose, he could not waste time as two men's lives hung in the balance and the scribe assigned to work with him was producing reports with his name signed to them. He burst into the Alexandria and moved to Yearling's office, it had been a long time since he had used his own office but he knew that Janice preferred the solitude of hers. Cristano Bael faced Janice Yearling, her sandy brown hair was tucked behind her ears allowing more of her brown eyes to be seen.
"You wrote a plan without including me and put my name on it," he asked and her eyes betrayed no sense of shock.
"I asked you for your input and you decided it would be best to focus on Schieber and Bors," answered Yearling, her voice cold as ice, "your thoughts were not on the current mission at hand. I take it Head Paladin Bruce approved of the plan?"
"That is beside the point; my name was added to that report without my consent," seethed Bael as he placed his hands on her desk at a shoulder length apart, "we need to put forward a unified front."
"Then make it a unified position," scolded Janice as she flipped papers, her eyes shifting to them and away from Bael, "take hold of this report as Bruce favors it and push it forward so that BIOS is the organization for gathering intelligence not just on locals but foreign threats as well."
Bael bit his tongue in frustration, "I'll go out there on my own, then."
"Do that and you should consider operational command of BIOS removed from your command," warned Yearling as she licked her finger and turned a page, "I've found out from Scribe in the Order of the Quill that Head Paladin Bruce has put in a request for you to be transferred to the Citadel for a long period stay. I would think promoting William Bruce to Head Paladin was part one of the Elders' plan to curb your influence, relocation to the Citadel would be part two."
"What the fuck are you on about, Scribe," Bael clenched his hands around the desk he was bracing.
"You are traveling on thin ice, Cristano, you have been using BIOS as it were your own personal fiefdom," replied Yearling in a snarl at the Paladin's inability to see the truth in front of him, "your actions were brazen and open for Rothchild and Lyons to view on a daily basis. You pursued your own interests before putting those they have for the Brotherhood first."
"So this is the Elders' attempt to cage me in like a savage animal," Bael clenched his hands into fists as he pulled away from the Scribe's desk, "as simple leash with not do for me, they must cage me like a mongrel in the Citadel as two of my men are out there in the wilderness?"
"Rothchild and Lyons look to keep you close by, if you are to be on a leash tied up in their backyard, so be it. Even mongrels can bark, growl and bare their teeth," reasoned Yearling as she looked back up into Bael's eyes, "the report calls for your black operations team to be put in play, but Knight Captain Galeas will be free."
"To send one person out there would be suicide, to recover Bors and Schieber a team would need to be assembled," reasoned Bael as he paced in front of the desk, "this could be good work for Actaeon and LaCroix."
"Actaeon is just a Scribe, not suited for actual operations," said Janice as if pigeonholing the man she used as a personal assistant, "I have him working on infiltrating the Plymouth Aristocracy at the moment."
"They will not be leaving any time soon," reasoned Bael as he continued to pace, "do you have that dossier on Actaeon's bounty hunter?"
"Here," said the Scribe as she pulled out a file from her locked draw.
"He'd be of use too," thought Bael aloud as he read over the dossier compiled by Actaeon.
"I'd venture so, as he assisted to the acquiring of Harkness. Likewise, he lead to making contacts within Paradise Falls," Yearling had committed all her files to memory, "but we won't get any free work from Warrick, as he is a bounty hunter."
"Our branch is cap strapped as it is," rejoined the Star Paladin as he closed the dossier, "we could barter, but I'd be damn if I let a local get his or her hands one some advanced technology."
"Then we trade something few individuals get for free, unless their towns and tribes see fit to it," replied the Scribe in a flash of genius, "I've checked the local markets and water is trading at a fair rate."
"Like what Bigsley has with Dukov and his side business," pondered the Star Paladin, "I want LaCroix to convince Bigsley on being our personal water bank from now on."
"I do not see why you would put her on intimidation tasks," Yearling was flippant in her response, "it is not like her skill set has been flexed to its full use."
"Let us hope that there continues to be less of a need for a wet work operative," Cristano's face was serious yet calm, "this Samuel Warrick is a known bounty hunter, slaver, and assassin. I'd want someone able to keep tabs on him and have the skills to take him out in full stealth without any remorse."
"She may be trained in that kind of ruthlessness, but LaCroix is not to that standard yet," shared Yearling on her opinion with a frown, "I'll collect the operatives for a meeting. Knight Ban and Operative Newton are scheduled to be rotated back to the Alexandria. I would still like for them to keep contact with their acquaintances in the Commonwealth."
"That would be the best, going forward," said Bael as he stood up and began to leave, "your plan is a good one, the Elders and others are looking favorably upon it."
The Bounty Hunter, Samuel Warrick, had walked all the way from Paradise Falls to Canterbury Commons in less than two days. Paradise Falls had given him his caps, food, drink, and sex. However, Warrick had found he wanted more in life, by a little. Unlike others, this 'more' he sought wasn't power, caps, women, or influence; many men had sought them and gained them before him. The 'more' he was looking for was one that lead to peace of mind. His old soul needed to right the scales to gain peace.
He only came to this conclusion mid – thrust into Carolina Red's quim, but great thoughts and ideas come at odd times. Once finished, he cleaned himself and moved on, looking to do one right thing as a test to see how it felt. His boots took him to the Commons, where he had made a brief stop before the attack on the Republic. Samuel had a plan in mind, one he needed to work on by himself.
Warrick brushed his forehead as he took off his leather brimmed hat, "do you know who runs the Republican brick shope," he asked of Joe Porter as he took a seat.
"Phineas? Good man, from what I gather," answered Joe as he took Warrick's order, "what do you need to know?"
"Seems like you are the man in the know," Warrick said he drank the cold beer.
"Depends on the one who's asking," Porter was having second thoughts about giving this man information.
"A person that can be a friend to the Republic," said Samuel as he sipped his beer, "where is there a decent place to rest my head?"
"Canterbury Hotel, run by Simon and Jackie Waters," answered the bartender and cook as he pointed down the street to a refurbished building, "one bedroom starts at seventy – five caps, two rooms at hundred and twenty – five caps. In room bars and the whole nines."
"Thank you for the information, Joe," said Samuel as he threw in some extra caps with the tab, "tell Phineas that if he'd like to talk I'll be up at the Canterbury Hotel."
"Sure thing, who should I say to ask for at the front counter," Joe Porter said as Warrick slid him a few more caps, "great to know, Mister."
Henry Fleet, mayor of Grayditch, sat at a small table with four other people in a conference room near his office. Three eyes ago, Fleet was hunting mirelurks for money, but no he found himself leading the second most populated city in the Wasteland. There were only rags – to – riches stories in the wasteland, no one was really born into wealth like that from history before the Great War. Even Tenpenny, the richest in the known wasteland, had no family to pass on his wealth. You can't take it with you was an old world saying, and death came too easily. This meeting was to focus on continuing wealth of the region and how to sustain it for future generations.
The four other people around the table were various representatives from towns and cities. Seagrave Holmes was the nominated representative of Rivet City's council. He was a shrewd man that is a merchant of electronics, spare parts, and custom repairs. When residents of Rivet City needed holes patched in the bulkhead and equipment that needed to be fixed. The council nominated him with two thirds in a vote of confidence to promote the interests of Rivet City.
A woman named Vala represented the new community of Friendship Heights. She had a short bob of hair that made her like a brunette q-tip in leather. She wore leather mercenary clothes, reminiscent of the raider past held by most residents. Boadicea sent Vala because she was quiet, observant, and had a naturally high level of common sense. Friendship Heights had a particular importance since its survival from the super mutant threat in becoming the salvage capital of the northern D.C. ruins. Recently, a small group of vault dwellers were making the community more sustainable in trade for parts needed to maintain Vault 101.
Mister Burke himself was representing Alistair Tenpenny and Tenpenny Tower. Tenpenny brought the richest population to the talks, the amount of collective cap based wealth was held in the tower. Burke's demeanor was anything but pleasant, he treated all those who lived out of the walls of Tenpenny Tower likedirt and thought them made of lessor meat than him. Disdain for them was etched on his face, but he went where Tenpenny paid him to go. His freshly pressed suit and cologne splashed skin were all calculated accessories to mark him as superior to those that sat around the table.
Megaton had sent an unusual representative to the meeting, Billy Creel. Moriarty forced Creel to attend and represent the interests of Megaton by threatening Maggie's life. The young girl was in the care of Manya, but as Moriarty put it, 'anything could happen on the streets of Megaton'. Creel had a mind for trade and the mayor of Megaton wanted to increase trade since Canterbury Commons had shifted caravan routes to her streets. Billy might have been a one – eyed man that was half insane from stress but he knew the caravan routes, old and new, unlike anyone to date. Moriarty wished he could attend such a meeting on trade and the future of the cap in the Capital Wasteland, however he felt that if left Megaton that the former raiders would take it for their own.
"Gentlemen and lady, thank you for showing up today and thank your town and city leaders for sending you here to Grayditch, "this meeting has occurred because of countless letters passed between your respected community, town and city leaders. The economic concerns as of late affect all of our communities, prosperity is on the rise but there is a paramount need to maintain this prosperity. Regulation like this has not existed in our lives, even the value put on caps is subjective to the town, city, tribe, and individual.
"At the end of these talks, hopefully we will have an agreement that will continuously set the rate of the cap," Fleet sat back in his chair as he looked to the eyes in the room, "an agenda has been set for discussion and if you'll take the time to review it we can move forward."
"The agenda seems to be prepared and organized appropriately," commented Burke with a frown, surprised by how these poor scum suckers were able to prepare documents.
"There are no specific areas for caravans," remarked Creel with noted concern.
"It will be listed under transportation rights," replied Fleet as he pointed an area from the agenda.
"Transportation is a wide topic, are we to suspect Drayden to be included latter in a sweetheart deals," Vala mentioned not looking at the agenda, unfortunately she was illiterate.
"Grayditch has merchants that use ships as a way of trading and importing goods," Fleet's reference went to the smaller merchants and Judge Joost Van Dyke's maritime trading company, "that is why the topic area is broad."
"There is a difference between water and land travel," alleged Billy Creel as he fought off a small tick and fidget.
"We can add it under transportation, an amendment to the agenda has been proposed," said Fleet as he wrote on the paper, "do we have an agreement;" Seagrave and Creel nodded, Vala shook her head and Fleet looked to Burke, "how do you move Mister Burke?"
"I abstain," he answered tersely.
"Seeing as I motioned for the change, consider it passed," ruled Fleet as he did a flourishing a notation on his agenda.
"Wait, why should it pass if two people didn't agree to passage," asked Vala stubbornly.
"I didn't put my vote either way," replied Burke with a frown, "but three votes would make a simple majority, dear. You do understand those words, don't you? Majority is the group with more people and the simple is you."
This is going to be a long week, thought Henry Fleet as a fight ensued between Vala and Burke, clearly some rules on voting would need to be established.
Elder Lyons waited in the loading zone of the old Nuka Cola Plant. One of the first things he did when he awoke form his coma was to share his knowledge of Arthur 'Artemis' Wilderman with Scribe Janice Yearling. She seemed nonplussed by the information, even though she had learned about the spy in Henry Casdin's circle of traitors. Zimm and JR had written a detailed report on the spy and Lyons' use of him prior to the formation of BIOS. He instructed her on how to make the dead drop and scheduled the face – to – face meeting they were presently waiting to start.
Scribe Yearling was with her Elder. She didn't feel safe with the meeting set up in the open but went along with it for Lyons. She had asked Head Paladin Bruce to lend three Knights from patrol detail of the Citadel to secure the area. Elder Lyons didn't know the Knights were present. They were hidden away from the meeting room but with viewpoints to see anyone coming from a distance. Four raiders had already lost their lives because the Knights felt they were too close. Scribe Janice Yearling kept a mobile communication device that linked to the Knights' units so that she heard reports from what they saw. The device was produced by Scribe Vallincourt so that Scribes could communicate with power armored Brotherhood members while on long station assignments; a new reality for the Scribes since Reginald Rothchild became an Elder.
The broken delivery trucks that once brought soft drinks to a nation provided cover and obstruction from the harmful rays of the sun, thus protecting the Elder. Walking from the north east across the long strip crumbling pavement was a single member of the Outcasts. Claimed Enclave armor, gathered either by the Lone Wanderer or taken from dead corpses after engagements with the Enclave, was painted red over the black along with Casdin's symbol. Enclave armor was horned and their colors were red and black; that after the large scaled assault against raiders in the Fairfax Ruins and the encounter in Megaton, the locals gave them a new name.
"I can see why the tribals call them demons," reported a Knight through the communication unit.
"One traitor approaching, wearing Enclave MKII advanced power armor, laser rifle equipped," reported in another, "standard issued AER9, ma'am, good to see some things haven't changed."
"Allowing the traitor to proceed," replied the original Knight.
Defender Arthur Wilderman walked past the dead bodies of raiders and noted the scorch marks left by laser weapons fire; he approached the meeting spot and barked out tersely, "who the hell is this?"
"Artemis, it is good to see you again. This is Scribe Janice Yearling, logistical head of BIOS and now your new handler," said Owyn Lyons as he leaned back in the wheel chair and Arthur Wilderman removed his power armor helmet.
"I'm sorry, Elder Lyons, things have been tense at Independence," Wilderman pulled off his recon helmet to allow his sweat soaked brown hair to dry in the Wasteland air, "it's good to see you alive, sir. Those Operatives in Megaton gave me a bit of a shock."
"How was the news taken in the Outcast camp," asked Elder Lyons with a keen interest.
"Protector Casdin gave you a nice eulogy and had even kinder words for the new Elder Rothchild," Artemis was sarcastic in tone, "needless to say he had to eat his words when we got news you were alive and well. He has been trying to reach any of the western chapters using some captured technology of the Enclave, but they all seem to have gone dark…."
"Probably because the majority of Scribes stood on the side of Elder Lyons," said Yearling as she noted the ominous report on the western chapters, "do you think you could sabotage this Enclave radio?"
"Not a chance in hell, Casdin is paranoid ever since Defender Sibley's mutiny at Bailey's Crossroads Outpost," the event had been forwarded by the Lone Wanderer before his disappearance, Artemis continued, "Protector McGraw seems to be the voice of reason and moderation. He isn't a local lover though. He appreciated the help of the Lone Wanderer when he saved his life."
"James' son has a knack for doing the right action even if it is unorthodox," commented Lyons in reference to deaths of five Outcasts there were former members of the Brotherhood of Steel.
"He definitely left an impression on McGraw for saving his skin and completing the virtual simulation," Artemis cracked his neck, "the man is still gruff and rough as a true Paladin. We haven't heard word about Harkness, is he in your…hands?"
"BIOS thanks you for your assistance in the matter, but I hope you understand when we tend not to share sensitive information between operatives," Yearling replied as Artemis nodded, the Scribe was being cautious.
"His technology was… it floored the specialists. The robotic prostheses have been used for our injured men at For Independence. Getting these former Knights and Paladins up on their feet have nearly raised our numbers by a quarter," Artemis confirmed as he took off the scope from his laser rifle and tossed it Yearling, "check it, Scribe."
Yearling looked through the scope to see that the view finder could zoom automatically and switch into thermal and infrared ranges of viewing, "I would like copies of these schematics. How did the Outcasts produce these?"
"We've been securing technology, so having the parts to make them was easy," answered Artemis as he checked the area, "I think we've spent too much time talking. I need to get back to the Fairfax Ruins."
"Get me more information on former Paladin McGraw, I need to know how he feels physically, emotionally, and psychologically," ordered Janice Yearling as Arthur Wilderman nodded.
The Outcast put on his recon Helmet and then power armor helmet, he replied in a cold metallic voice, "for glory, honor, and the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Steel be with you, Knight Artemis," replied Elder Lyons to Defender Arthur Wilderman as he walked back into the world of the Outcasts as a Brotherhood of Steel mole.
Star Paladin Cristano Bael had gathered Knight Captain Galeas, Scribe Actaeon and Operative Anna LaCroix. In front of them was a map of the old world before the bombs fell. The Operation was to be called Recupero. Their task set for them by Bael was the recovery of Quintus Schieber and Jamie Bors, alive or not, and discover the cause for their vertibird to be lost.
Knight Captain Galeas raised the first question, "who will be stationed at the Alexandria while we are away?"
"Knight Michael Ban and Operative Hannah Newton will be rotated back to the Alexandria," disclosed Bael with a sigh, along with myself between here and the Citadel, he added jovially, "we'll try not to leave a mess."
"Why do we need this bounty hunter," LaCroix voiced but thought Samuel Warrick would be a waste of time.
"He has great knowledge of the Capital Wasteland and his tracking ability will lead to finding the missing operatives faster," responded Actaeon with a yawn, "but the man is… he is slow to trust."
"Why can't we just use Harkness, the SRB seemed to have him trained him adequately enough," Anna suggested with a raised eye brow.
"Harkness is an asset of BIOS, but not an operative," countered Bael with a narrow stare, "he is not be trusted or in the depths of our intelligence. That is why he cannot currently , the Alexandria is the best place to protect him from the Commonwealth."
"Where does that leave me," inquired Actaeon as he thought that possibly he and Harkness were on similar levels in BIOS.
"You've been transferred to us, but you are not a full fledge operative, yet," replied Bael as he sat down on the desk in front of them, "finish this recovery and you'll be a step closer to being a full member."
"Will there be a vertibird travel to the Republic," probed Knight Captain Galeas.
"No, this mission is off the books, you will be on your own," replied Star Paladin Bael as he cleared his throat, "you will have to proceed on foot. This is a recovery mission, but a secret one at that, so no overt connection to the Brotherhood of Steel will be allowed. That means no power armor."
"What about radiological suits and laser weapons," asked Galeas as she thought ahead to provisions, "Rad – Away or Rad – X?"
"If you can carry it, do so," said Bael, "but this is a BIOS only mission, not for common Brotherhood of Steel knowledge, so do not expect to radio in support, or get assistance from any localized bases. You will be completely on your own."
There was a knock on the door to the small hotel room in Canterbury Commons. Samuel Warrick walked to the door and peered through a small hole he made by a concealed gunshot using a pillow and an ancient plastic soda bottle. The Bounty Hunter opened the door and an old man walked in. Phineas was the brick and mortar merchant from the Republic. He was over sixty and wore a sweaty bandana over his wispy white hair and his clothes were a simple cloth tunic held together by a waist belt. Phineas had managed the ledger and large bulk sales, most notably with Canterbury Commons, along with the younger salesmen that worked the stall. He was an old caravaneer and an even older friend of President Rosie, who was one of the first to assist with the new direction of the town when Dave left.
"Heard you wanted to speak to me," his voice soft and his words truncated.
"I do, or more precisely, I have something for yehr President," expressed Warrick as he went to check on the street below through the window.
"If this a bulk sale of bricks then we could have done it at my stall," droned the man as he appraised the bounty hunter up and down, "I don't like to be dicked around, mister."
"This is about caps," professed Warrick as he turned to Phineas, "and a chance for you to gain a reprisal for last week's attack."
"An attack on Paradise Falls is not worth it, it would be suicide, heck even the Brotherhood of Steel refuses to do it," asserted Phineas firmly.
"There is a way to hurt them," emphasized Samuel Warrick as he rubbed his fingers together with his thumb, "and that information will be left for the Republic to do with it what it will for ten thousand caps."
"Ha, only ten thousand," Phineas rejoined sarcastically.
Sam Warrick just cracked his neck as he stared the man down, his hands at his side, "I aim dead on target, Bricker. Now, yah can send my message to yehr President, otherwise I have other places to share this information with."
"I'll tell her, just don't expect the answer you want," warned Phineas as he walked out of the hotel room.
Perhaps being a slaver would be far more profitable, thought Warrick as he locked the door and looked out the window to watch Phineas leave the hotel, what am I going to do with your Republican Phineas, what am I going to do with you?
Quintus Schieber and Jamie Bors were shocked at the hospitality of the ghoul resident of the NSA, a lonely cryptologist named Fredrick Niche. He seemed quirky, eccentric even, because he would stop talking mid – sentence though his thoughts still leaping forward. Fred tried to make the men he thought to be United States soldiers from two hundred years ago. He offered them chairs that sat behind desks that made up a place called the Web once the central convergence of all telecommunications monitoring in the USA. Apparently, the building found by the Operatives was once the information nexus of the former United States of America and Fredrick Niche was its long term caretaker.
"It has been a long time since I've entertained guests," said Niche as he nervously adjusted his bow tie.
"Have you been down here the whole time," Schieber was curious and concerned at the same time.
"Two hundred and four years, nine months, and ten days," responded Niche as he patted his rotted patchy skull, "there were ten thousand, eight hundred and fifty – six of us at that point. I sometimes see my colleagues, but they don't seem too often."
"When did you turn," Bors' voice was cold and metallic through the power armor helmet.
"I have never wavered a bit in my devotion to the good ol' United States of America," Fred held a hand of his heart, taken aback by Bors' actuations, he began to sing, "Oh! Say can you see by the dawn's early light,…"
Bors and Schieber winced at the ghouls attempt to sing, "Mister Niche, Fred, there is no…no need to prove your loyalties. We, we are not from the United States…"
"But you wear their uniform," thought Niche as he allowed his ideas to leap forward, "but the chain of succession, there was no one left? All ten thousand, eight hundred and fifty – six of us gave our livelihoods to keep this country running. Our last report before the majority of radio communication was that the chain of command was intact."
"The Great War destroyed most of everything, our group is preserving what we can," alleged Bors as he licked his lips under his helmet, "in a twofold manner, one from humanity using advanced technology and secondly by preserving the production and function of technology."
Fredrick nibbled his bottom lip, "the United States still must exist, I receive updates from agents still in place and automated units that are still active."
"After two hundred years, if they aren't ghouls, I don't know how else they survived for so long," replied Bors as he decided to remove his helmet, "our group originated on the West Coast."
"Under whose command? In my spare time I've been able to read the archived logs to know of the military break down that occurred and the federal and civil response," informed Niche as he fumbled with the button on his sweater vest.
"The Brotherhood of Steel was founded by the great High Elder Roger Maxson," enlightened Knight Bors with pride.
"That mutineer at Mariposa Military Base? We heard his radio transmissions, but by that time we were already deciphering information of the opening attack," Niche looked at the two men, "our concerns were ensuring the continuation of the United States of America's leadership. We failed, I gather. We paid little attention to Captain Roger Maxson, the west coast was lost an hour before the east coast…"
"You did what you could, Mister Niche," Schieber removed his helmet as he reassured the ghoul and Bors shook his hair to disperse the sweat.
"So when did this…compound first get hit," Bors was inquisitive as to the higher than regular levels of radiation around the surface.
"I don't think I'm allowed to have this conversation," Fredrick Niche was more nervous than before, Schieber thought he was acutely paranoid on the topic.
"Are you worried about us being like those crispy critters outside," asked Bors with concern as he noticed Niche's nervous frown, "the Brotherhood have fought them on two coasts. Both times we have won. We have assisted in the building up a former government and attempting to preserve what information from the old world. We have made it to the Capitol of the former United States, secured the Citadel and freed the people from the Enclave. We are the Brotherhood of Steel."
"The imposters mentioned an old foe held up in the Pentagon, I take it that is your Citadel," remarked Niche as he looked around the room, "the Enclave…used us to ensure their survival. We, all ten thousand eight hundred and fifty – six of us, thought we were working for the President… not a clandestine group of special interests; we were fools…damn fools."
"Do not feel too bad, the Enclave are masters of manipulation," Schieber imparted with a frown on his lips, "many thought them the legitimate heirs of the government."
"Niche, we lost our vertibird and would like spend some time here as we have no way to return yet," Bors brushed his hair back and scowled, "we're too far from the Citadel, and I would respectfully like to ask your permission to stay."
"I have plenty of room, but my food isn't much," answered Fred as he got up, "I have my room closed off from the rest…my colleagues are known to wonder in at night from time to time. It would be nice to hear other voices than my own."
Operative Juan Alvarado found himself at a small ranch in the middle of the wasteland. He followed Marshall Lawson's directions and made his way to the Regulator headquarters. Brahmins were braying in the pens as field hands worked on herding and milking. Two regulators sat on the open porch. One had her feet up on the bannister with her hat covering her eyes. The other had neatly parted hair and wide aviator sunglasses. Both of them wore dusters, brown and reddish from the wasteland desert.
"I'm here to see Sonora Cruz," informed Juan to the two, the man just pointed his thumb to the door silently, "uhm…thanks."
"God damnit, frosh," yelled a black Regulator with hair knit into rows as he held two throwing knives, "you shifted my shot when you opened that door!"
"Sorry," said Juan as he closed the door quickly but held it before it slammed shut to close it quietly.
"Don't take the piss out of the Frosh," admonished a woman with platinum blonde hair that was cut around the bottom of her ears, "you just won me a pint, kid."
"Fuck you, Brit," retorted the black Regulator as he tossed a knife across the room close to Juan and hit the target in the center, "you owe me a pitcher, you pond hopping slag!"
"Uhm, were can I find Sonora Cruz," asked Juan to the Regulators playing darts and to those watching.
"Fucking yanks, what was the Frosh," asked the Blonde woman with pale fair skin.
"Sonora Cruz, I have a message from Marshall Lawson and a request to join," replied Alvarado getting pissed at how the others ignored him.
"You'll find her at the top of the stairs and to the left," responded the woman with a strange accent to Alvarado's ear, "you might want to project more, by the way. Sonora has a hard time hearing passive wimps."
Juan narrowed his brown eyes for a second before he turned away and walked up the steps; he knocked on the doorframe of an office with no door, behind a desk sat a young woman with a leather Stetson curved on the sides and a brown duster, "friend, foe, or errand boy," she asked in a flat voice.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," reacted Juan as he shifted and moved his dead arm a little as it was tide to his belt.
"My name isn't ma'am, Madame, or anything of the like," she rejoined looking up from her files, "I'm Sonora Cruz, what do you have for me?"
"I am Juan Alvarado, I bring myself and a letter from Marshall Lawson," said the Hispanic teenager from Rivet City.
"We'll see about that, the letter first please," answered Cruz as she held out her hand, she read quietly, "former Brotherhood of Steel Knight, at least you know how to shoot. Why were you kicked out, Alvarado?"
"I was accused and found quality of a crime in Grayditch; breaking and entry, along with theft," answered the BIOS Operative, "my medical status proved to make me ill-suited for the Brotherhood's use."
"Honesty, I can appreciate it and it is a good thing you didn't try an hide it or make your injury into a pity party," appraised Sonora as she cleaned her yellowing teeth with her tongue, "why do you want to be a Regulator?"
"A person has to do something with their life," he reasoned as he held his dead arm, "it is better to make others live in more tolerable world."
"Respectable answer, but our group isn't all honor based, towns hire us to complete jobs they don't have the ability to do," countered Sonora Cruz as she tapped the files in front of her desk, "end of the day, you collect fingers and you get caps. You don't and you'll starve of find yourself relying on a knife to complete missions, if you get chosen to be a Regulator. We are here to do well, the money is a side benefit, or it should be anyway."
"Understood," replied Juan.
"There are no set ranks or democracy. I am the leader here, I tell you where to go and what to do; and you do it," Sonora Cruz wrote down on a piece of scrape paper, "once you get chosen from being a probie or a frosh you become a Regulator, equal to the rest. You can only become a Regulator on my say so, till then you are a probie or frosh; not all probies and froshies are raised to become Regulators. Most wind up leaving or dying."
"I promise to do neither," Juan tried to joke but Sonora didn't smile.
"Take this to the quartermaster. He'll give you what you need for now. You'll get your duster when you earn it, and not a moment sooner," lectured Cruz, "and never joke about dying to me. I don't like investments that don't pan out. Marshall Lawson has a decent opinion of you. I hope you prove him right."
Operative Lolli Pop squatted in front of the small fire he made. Galvin Cobb, former commander of Talon Company in Takoma Industrial Park, sat down near the fire as he was tied to a mangled road sign still firmly secured to the ground. Pop, the Asian Operative of BIOS originally from Little Lamplight and later Big Town, still wore the Talon armor of a dead Second Scout. The combat armor was still ill fitting, too big for his frame, but it wasn't too off from his size. Pop had his laser rifle, taken from the cold dead hands of a Second Scouts, resting against a rock he sat on, eating some pork 'n' beans from a can heated over the small fire.
"I haven't eaten in a few days," remarked Cobb as he stretched out his legs, "mind sharing that with me?"
Pop looked up from his slightly decent meal, he opened his rucksack and tossed a rancid snack cake that was still in the wrapper, "don't say I'm not a giving person."
Cobb had to squish the food under his foot, drag it to himself and turn it to his hands for him open it and eat, "thanks, I think the fire needs to be built up a little more," Galvin said between bites.
"I'm not a servant," answered Lolli Pop as he put the can down, empty.
"I'd go out and get the material myself, but," Cobb pulled on his restraints and stopped talking.
"Urgh," mumbled Pop as he holstered his semi – automatic pistol and tucked his revolver into the cloth utility belt, "I'll be right back, just stay there…"
The darkness swallowed Operative Pop as he walked the old town streets to scrounge a dumpster for paper and a building for wood. Cobb was still eating the snack cake, slowly savoring even though it was more than two hundred years old, stale, and rotten. His eyes kept on the small fire as time passed and only a glowing haze from the embers could be seen in the immediate area. Galvin and Lolli camped outside of an old town that had been reclaimed by the wasteland, only the skeletal remains of buildings and walls remained. Coconut was a new taste to Galvin Cobb, though the snake cake was a bad representation on how the product tasted regularly. Stars shown through the cloudy night sky, but the only light came from a three foot radius around the burning embers of the fire, cracks and sparks popping then flying in the air. Their orange and red light slowly died and floated in the air, Cobb heard gravel move off to his right side where the main road was located.
"Who is that?" Galvin Cobb turned his head around and looked blindly into the darkness, he asked into the night sky.
"Just your friendly, nightly wanderers," replied a man in a brown duster as he emerged from the darkness with two other Regulators in similar dusters, "but it seems you're in a bit of bind, friend. Who has done this to you?"
"If you cut me free, I'd be very grateful," declared Cobb with a sickening smile, "man named Pop tied me up. Kidnapped from Grayditch and plans to sell me to Evergreen Mills, I gather."
"The Mills is farther southwest from here, you've been traveling the wrong way for that," commented a Regulator as he pointed out their foot prints in the earth, "seems more like you're on your way to Fort Bannister…."
The other Regulator had bent over to undo Cobb's bindings and caught the man's face in the light. Cobb felt himself getting manhandled in a flash, the Regulator grabbed him by the back of his head and jaw, pulling him to the dying fire light. Cobb's eyes rolled and searched the faces of the men in brown coats. Brown dusters billowed in the night wind, the Regulators' faces were like chiseled from stone and Cobb knew they recognized him.
Chambers, his face, he looks like Galvin Cobb," asserted the Regulator closer to the former commander of Talon Company.
"Marshall Lawson reported that Cobb had escaped Grayditch justice," the first Regulator that had been seen by Cobb said, identifying himself as Chambers; "sorry friend, doesn't look to be your lucky night," continued Chambers as he directly talked to Galvin and pointed a beat up ten millimeter pistol to the restrained man's head, "you can run from Takoma, and you can run from Grayditch, but you cannot escape the crimes you've committed."
"Not today," answered Operative Lolli Pop, two handguns held at the ready, the semi – automatic pistol held closer to his face and shoulder as he aimed at two of the Regulators' heads, "I'd appreciate it if you…you moved on."
Chambers gripped his pistol and began to turn with his two companions to face Pop. The Asian Operative fired both his pistol and revolver at the same time, jerking the triggers. The Regulator to the right of Chambers was killed instantly as the bullet passed through his nose and out the back of his head. To the left, the second Regulator wasn't as lucky as the recoil from the pistol put the bullet through the top of his head. He fell back, the top of his skull cap completely blown off and parts of his brain oozing out into the shifting sand. Chambers was equally shocked and scared as he aimed with a trembling hand, but Cobb caught his legs and tripped him. Better to be alive and with Pop than dead with the Regs, thought he former Talon Company commander.
The Regulator suffering from Pop's poor shot squirmed and withered on the ground. He was not fully dead, his brain held on and transmitted signals to the body, slowly dying from blood loss. Chambers got back to his feet and turned to point his ten millimeter pistol, but Lolli shot his arm with the revolver. It took the Operative two shots to actually hit his target. Operative Lolli Pop was not the best marksman in the world. Chambers dropped his pistol and tried to run, Pop shot out his leg from under the Regulator.
Immobilized and wounded, Chambers fell to the ground but refused to give up. He tried to escape, crawling away by pulling his body with the one good arm as he bled from two bullet wounds. The bullet that went through his arm completely shattered the bone. The wound to his leg had the bullet slug lodged in his thigh, causing Chambers a throbbing pain. He continued to pull himself away from the fire and the sights of Operative Lolli Pop. Clicking the safeties back on, the Asian Operative replaced his weapons in his holsters.
"Cut of his ear!" Galvin Cobb struggled against his bindings while ordering Lolli Pop.
"What," questioned Pop as he began to check the dead Regulator's pockets.
"Cut. Off. His. Ear." Articulated Cobb as brushed his forehead with his bound hands and wrists, "you want to know what is expected of Talon Company mercenaries, this is one of those criteria. Cut off his ear, before he crawls away; he's a dead man anyway. The wasteland will claim him."
"That's just…horrible! Why would I do that," Lolli felt a pang of guilt as he watched the still wounded Chambers crawling away, is this why I've really signed up?
"They take our fingers, we take their ears. If you want them to believe you're truly a Talon Company merc, you will take his ear," reasoned Cobb with a snarl.
Pop watched the wounded Chambers crawl and sighed as he walked behind him, just beyond the light of the fire in darkness of the chill wasteland night, "no please don't," pleaded the Regulator as the Operative pulled out his combat knife, "please, you don't have to…you dunt have…please, donut do it!"
"I'm sorry," whispered Pop, more to himself than to Chambers as he pushed the Regulator's head into the dirt and began to saw the man's ear off from where it attached to his skull.
Chambers screamed into the earth and just as the last bit of cartilage separated from his head the Regulator passed out. The ear flopped around in Lolli's hand making the Operative's stomach churn. He turned from Chambers' unconscious body and puked up all the pork 'n' beans he had just eaten. The chunks splattered on the desert earth and over his boots. He picked up the ear and brushed off the recently eaten and regurgitated food pieces. Pop's stomach was doing summersaults as he walked back into the light of the dying fire to rejoin Galvin Cobb.
"You need to cut off all their ears," said Cobb as he shifted on the ground, "and try not to puke on me, will yeh?"
"How the fuck can you people do this," asked Lolli as he put his knee on the Regulator he had killed instantly and began to remove the ear from the corpse.
"Talon Company gets paid for all Regulator ears turned into one of our contractors," answered Galvin as he watched the Brotherhood of Steel Operative remove a handkerchief from the dead Regulator's coat pocket, "taking an ear to mark a kill, any kill, is part of Talon culture. You're going to have to get used to it, sooner or later."
The Regulator that had his skull cap blown off had finally died, Pop began to cut off that corpses' right ear, "oh fuck," he said as a large portion of brain rolled out from the skull and Lolli wretched all over the body.
"You don't have a strong disposition, do you," commented Cobb with a snicker.
"Fuck you," Lolli scorned as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
"Don't forget to collect their rifles and ammo, selling them at Fort Bannister will be profitable," advised Galvin as he shifted against his bindings.
"We're going to move camp," Pop nodded as he picked up two the three rifles.
"I think you're forgetting something," noted Cobb with a smile, "a simple 'thank you' will do."
"Thank you for what," queried Lolli Pop as he screwed up his face in confusion.
"I did take down that Reg for you," answered Galvin Cobb with a wide smile, "you might be a lousy shot, but I'll admit you can sure put on one hell of a surprise attack. However, there was one man that could have taken you down. Luckily, I took him down for you."
"You'd have gone with them if they didn't know who you were," asserted Pop, letting Cob know he had overheard the conversation longer then former commander thought.
"It was a good opportunity," countered Galvin Cobb with a shrug.
"Don't think of it again, my organization has deep connections…and my position needs to be secured since the one I had in the Brotherhood was lost," lied the Operative as he took a backpack of a dead Regulator, it was in better shape than the one given to him by Roe.
"I don't even know who you really work for," criticized Cobb as he sized up the Operative, "not Brotherhood, much to cunning for those steel heads. They only know how to stand and shoot. You definitely aren't a Regulator 'cause you shot the dusters too quickly…hard to place you, Mister Pop."
"Best not to place me, former commander Cobb, but to accept the benefits when you receive them," replied Pop as he sought out items from the rucksack and strapped the rifles to it, it's my job to keep you in place, he thought.
Operative Daniel Roe sat at a table with Star Paladin Cristano Bael. The ghouls worked around the town house clearing away the debris. The upstairs was cleaned out but there were many holes that needed to be patched. Plastic tarps recovered from garbage and debris were used a temporary coverings as rain would come in at night, and plastic nearly lasted forever. Bael's eyes were on fire. His zeal impressed and intimidated Roe. Dan had read over the plan presented to him that had been drafted by Janice Yearling and Bael. It required a lot from him and his team.
"So, do you think your team can handle this assignment," Bael asked a loaded question, tapping his finger on the file.
Roe took a moment to reflect on his team. Zhao, Bin, and Da'an were Chinese ex – commandos that had infiltrated all the way to the Capitol, they were more than ready and capable. Franklin could handle himself and the team well, he proved to be the perfect second – in – command making it easy to work with the ghouls. The man kept quiet, never revealing too much of his past. The two other members of the Alexandrian mercenary team were Rook and Tamara.
Rook was a surprising individual, originally a popular professional football strongside lineback for the Washington Senators. He held the record for most sacks in one season, twenty – five in fifteen games, before the National Football League was forced to fold in 2067 by the House Un-American Activities Committee because it supported a socialist method of advancement. The ten years before the bombs fell, Rook worked as an enforcer for the Moretti crime family because all NFL players became blacklisted by the HUAC. Then the bombs fell and Rook was exposed to enough radiation to affect his genetic makeup and slowly turned into the presently large, broad chest and shoulder mercenary he was today.
The other ghoul on the black operations team for the Brotherhood of Steel was Tamara. She was a resident of the District of Columbia's metro area her whole life, a former single mom and, at one point, a gang member. Like Rook, Franklin, Zhao, Bin and Da'an, Tamara's life changed on October 23, 2077. Survival was the goal, first for her child but small bodies could only take so much radiation. Then Tamara fought and survived her herself, she had grown up in the school of hard knocks and that helped her face post – apocalyptic life. Still, the loss of her child and the horrors she saw had jaded Tamara. Wounded people were better served with a bullet in the brain than a treatment from a stimpak, she reasoned as the prolonged pain and suffering of her daughter stayed with her.
"Where do we get the boats," asked Roe, certain of his team though uncertain of water travel.
Star Paladin Bael passed him a pouch of caps, "negotiate with a captain in the southern marina."
"You know the people of Grayditch are mighty pissed that Wilhelm's Warf is not getting any shipping traffic," replied Roe as he pulled on his ear lobe, "also there have been some rumors of a group called the Immortals."
"Black Operations are meant to be covert…good job with the skirmish at Crossroads," complimented Bael off handedly, his thoughts to nothing on the commerce of Grayditch or the rumors of locals.
"Your will be done, Steel Heart," said Roe in a flat tone that meant to be sarcastic.
"The Elders have yet to sign off on this plan, but approval will come soon. Yearling and I have it in mind to put this in motion sooner rather than waiting for approval," Bael held as he stood up and adjusted his hat, which matched his dapper suit.
"Understood, so it's a go either way," confirmed Roe as he counted out the caps, "we will scout the area of Norfolk for any and all Enclave presence."
On the other side of Graydtich, a secret meeting of five town Representatives continued. Henry Fleet, of the host town, sat at the head of the table. He was accompanied by Seagrave Holmes of Rivet City, Billy Creel of Megaton, Vala of Friendship Heights, and Mister Burke of Tenpenny Tower. The talks had progressed slowly. The rights of trade and taxation of traders outside of the five town agreement took a long time. Now the biggest issue that would be the bulwark of their agreement was under review. The idea of basing their currency on a common and stable backing was to be discussed so as to foster a set rate for the cap between the five towns and all vendors based in them. As it were, merchants and vendors fluctuated between from nearly fifty to hundred times the price of similar goods. Purified water would sell between six and twelve caps on the open market with no reason for pricing within the five town area as they received regular shipments from the Brotherhood of Steel.
Seagrave Holmes was the first to relate the issue to pure, radiation free, water and even promoted the idea of basing the economy off of a water backed cap, "aqua pura is one of the most constant items of trade in the area."
"When the shipments arrive," retorted Vala with a scowl, the shipments to Friendship Heights were still new and caravaneers found reason to delay and build up a need to trade in secondary goods.
"The shipments are secured by Rivet City Security. Good men and women who risk their lives to keep the area hydrated," rejoined Holmes with pride in his city.
"We're dodging the major issue with a water backed cap," Billy Creel wiped his brow and fidgeted a little, "aqua pura is controlled by … by the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Control over the backing of a monetary unit should be in the hands of those willing to place it at that limitation," Burke injected cryptically.
"And how do you suggest backing a cap with water when fresh water is in the hands of the Brotherhood," inquired Fleet with an incredulous tone, "I dear say we violence would not be the appropriate answer."
"Considering your 'special relationship' with the Brotherhood of Steel, attacking them would be out of the question. But to include them in these talks would not be desirable, either," analyzed Mister Burke as he held his hands on his knees and leaned forward to the table, "steel heads control the largest supply of fresh and drinkable water and you geniuses want to back the cap with water. The Brotherhood of Steel would be made the richest organization in the known world over night. To counter balance this, the weight of water and cap wealth need to be incredibly inverse."
"I'm not looking to give the Brotherhood of Steel any more power than it already has," corrected Fleet flatly, "I do not look to progress their goals, this for our towns and cities, Mister Burke. If we set the rate between water and caps at a wide gap, then we're dooming those with few caps to have even less wealth."
"I think…I…we're…Megaton, in light of this conversation, need to address it to our home," stammered Billy Creel as he saw the weight of both arguments from Burke and Fleet.
Henry Fleet sighed, "please, we do not need to disband these talks just yet. There is no Brotherhood of Steel influence here. Let us, the true inhabitants of the Capital Wasteland, determine the future of our affairs. We can adjourn until the morning, but we need to set a path for the future. Just take the night, grab a drink, catch a show, and we'll all return to the table in the morning."
"Sounds like a fair idea," responded Vala, not too happy with the choice of Mister Burke as her settlement came from the lower end spectrum of cap wealth.
"I'll be in my quarters," said Seagrave Holmes as he packed up for the day and left.
"I hope this town has a decent bar," complained Mister Burke, "preferably one were they don't water down the drinks and serve them in clean glasses."
"Try Benjamin's Respite, it would do to fit your…standards," Fleet quipped as he walked out of the conference room and into his apartment office.
"I can barely stand the smell of this place, let alone the taste," grumbled Burke to himself as he sneered at Vala knowing she heard him.
"You do not wish to be here," she commented flatly to point out the fact.
"My dear, I go where it is asked of me," replied Burke with a false smile as if he was speaking to a stupid child.
"You have choice. Yet you do things against your will and complain more than I have ever seen a person do," observed Vala with a frown.
"I thought your people killed before they even heard others utter a word? Yet you seem to put on the guise of a wise woman," Burk tipped his hat as he packed up his items and left, "I suppose you had to entertain yourself while on your back so often. I am off to get a drink. I won't lie, It was not pleasant meeting you and I look forward to never seeing you again."
Vala waited till Burke left before she walked into Henry Fleet's office, he looked at her and frowned, "I think there is a problem with Mister Burke," she said as a matter of fact.
"I have a problem with Mister Burke," rejoined Fleet with a sour look.
"He is purposely subverting these talks," continued Vala, nonplussed by Fleet's comments or inflated self – image, he was a politician after all, she thought.
"These are harsh words, what proof do you have," requested the Mayor of Grayditch as he undid the top button to his shirt.
"He just told me he did not expect to see me or this group for a while, if ever again," supplied Vala.
"Tenpenny plans to remove himself from this conference," Fleet held his hand to his chin and tapped his lone index finger against his lower jaw, "shit…We can't risk that…why is Friendship Heights acting as a true friend in these talks? The City of Gryaditch is much obliged to you, but we have seldom worked together."
"Boadicea has expressed a keen interest in the way this city runs," supplied the reformed raider, "such as your sewage and septic systems."
Henry Fleet raised an eyebrow, "and what do I receive?"
"Other than our support in the talks," Vala smiled as she held a hand to her hip, "we can provide salvaged goods like wood, stone, metal, and piping. So what say you, Mayor Fleet?"
Fleet laughed as he leaned back against his chair, "was not what I asked. I asked what was in this for me, not the City of Grayditch," in the back of his mind, Henry had one room for free thought, if Tenpenny pulls out of the talks, who else would have the large amount of caps to replace him?
A/N: Thank you all for following this series, Vol. 4 is beginning and I've already worked several plot lines that will be running together. I know releasing this chapter a day after the DLC: Honest Hearts release will not give me too many readers. But for those of you that took time off from playing to read and those that have just read, please review. Your ideas and comments really influence me, how I write, and where I can go with this series.
Please Read & Review!
Random facts:
Floating Gate Metal – Oxide- Semiconductor Field – Effect Transistor is the scientific term form for static state drives, also known as flash drives.
The Washington Senators were an NFL, and later an Independent, team that were in existence from 1921 to 1941.
House Un- American Activities Committee existed from 1938 to 1975 was first organized to investigate the influence of Nazi and 'Certain Other' Propaganda activities, which would later become Communists. The HUAC carried out a brief investigation in the internment of Japanese Americans in WWII. To be brought up for hearing by the HUAC, even if found innocent of any wrong doing, would lead to a blacklisting due to the public nature of the hearing; it was renamed in 1969 to be House Committee on Internal Security before being disbanded in 1975 and absorbed into the Department of Justice. For the purpose of the Fallout Universe, the HUAC was never disbanded.