"The Scribes copy the plans for the weapons, and the Knights make them. The Paladins protect the Brotherhood from harm."
-Paladin Rhombus
The Cambridge Police Station was stripped clean, save for a few bits of ammunition scattered on the floor. Probably duds.
They felt light in the Paladin's hands.
There was a clipboard, battered and forgotten by time as the world aged and died around it. Some names were still legible on the pages it held, not that they really meant anything anymore. It was now just a useless ledger behind a screen where an officer once sat, enacting their civil justice by checking in criminals.
Danse always wondered how this kind of junk survived the blast. If the number of random knick-knacks he found equaled to anything useful, the Brotherhood of Steel would have accomplished their mission years prior: to rebuild civilization.
"We need something to boost the signal. There's some kind of interference, I can't place it." The woman's fingers danced through a mess of circuitry from a freshly gutted radio.
It sat on the counter, it's copper innards sprawling down to her knees like metal vines.
"Knight Rhys?" Danse asked.
"Yes, sir?" The Knight saluted.
"When you secured the perimeter, did you notice anything unusual that would be blocking the radio signals?"
"No, sir. Just a few straggling Ghouls." Rhys responded.
"Scribe Haylen, have you checked the roof?" Danse asked the woman.
"I have, sir. Just a nest of fried tech." She answered, "It's not that. It's not radiation. It's not any other type of signal wave, either. I'm not sure what it is, but it's not strong. Just…too strong for what little we have to work with right now." Scribe Haylen sighed.
It'd been two days since Knight-Sergeant Dawes was killed at an ambush at Fort Strong. He'd been the fourth one to die since Recon Squad Gladius set out on a mission to investigate the Commonwealth under Paladin Danse's command several months ago. The three of them at the police station were all that remained. Them, and the wilting planks that threatened to break every time Danse stomped around in his Power Armor.
"I'd like to walk the perimeter one more time before we call it a night, if I may." Knight Rhys offered, "Might have missed something."
Danse liked that about Rhys. Never one to leave a mission stagnant.
"Of course, Knight. Stay alert out there." The Paladin ordered.
"Yes, sir." Knight Rhys took his laser rifle from the corner of the room, right where he'd left it.
"Here, take these." Scribe Haylen's hand dug in her pocket, retrieving two stimpaks. He took them from her graciously.
"Thank you, Sister." Rhys smiled.
"Ad Victoriam, Brother." Haylen responded.
"Ad Victoriam," Paladin Danse huffed, "We're going to need a lot more than a mantra to get ourselves out of this mess."
A spark flew from the radio.
"Ow! Damn, that hurt. Overloaded the circuit board." Scribe Haylen shook her hand in the air, her singed fingerless glove sending a small plume of smoke into her nostrils. She started to cough, laughing in between.
"Alive, anyhow."
"Careful, Haylen." Danse's eyes softened, "Electrocuting yourself? You're better than that, soldier."
"Don't give her too much credit, sir." Rhys had dismantled the makeshift barricade in front of the station's doors, "Maybe you should've kept these stimpaks, Haylen."
A feint voice came from the galvanized contraption in front of the Scribe.
The three of them listened intently.
There were jumbled words at first- barely audible.
"Dropping now-" The signal was cut loose.
"Damn it!" Haylen swore, "So close." She began to tinker with the device again.
The building rattled, dust being shook from the asbestos tiles floating above them. An echo of a "thump" snuck its way through the two broken windows in the lobby.
"What was that?" Rhys asked.
"Sounded big." Danse picked up one of the slabs of wood they hauled from a warehouse in one hand, and a container of nails in the other, "On second thought, Rhys, re-secure that door. Let's get these windows patched up and hunker down." His metal hand glistened from the light provided by the few dangling light bulbs Haylen made operational, "Last thing we need is another surprise. I'll investigate in the morning."
"Yes sir, Paladin Danse." Rhys answered.
"Got it! I think." Haylen clapped her hands together, ridding them of grime, "Whatever fell cleared up the wave barrier. I've got the frequency, we just need a little more juice." She grinned.
"I'm sure I'll find something at ArcJet Systems." Danse reassured.
Haylen and Rhys froze, looking at the Paladin.
"Is there a problem?" Danse asked.
The Scribe and Knight looked at each other.
Rhys was the first one to talk, "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Proceed, Knight." Danse already knew what was coming, but would give his Brother the courtesy of voicing himself, regardless.
"Scribe Haylen and I want to come with you. Going by yourself could be fatal, sir." Rhys fidgeted, uncomfortable to question his superior.
Danse sighed, "We've lost too many good soldiers. Mobilizing one unit minimizes the probability of more unnecessary loss of life." He held the wooden piece so that it covered the window, pressing the nails through the walls with the strength of his Armor, "I've run the calculations and have gone over strategic points of entry. We've cased the building numerous times. I'll be fine."
The Paladin wished he believed his own words.
"But-" Haylen began.
"My decision is final. You'll both stay here tomorrow. Those are orders." Danse interrupted.
"Yes, sir." She sighed.
Paladin Danse never liked getting stern with the inferiors under his command, but if it meant keeping them safe, it was a discomfort he'd muster through.
"I'll, uh…get some rations together." Scribe Haylen rubbed the back of her neck, looking at their provisions crate resting in front of the armory doors.
"Good idea." Danse agreed, pushing the last nail through their new window cover.
The Paladin left the lobby, taking a moment to himself in the deputy's office he'd claimed. A busted computer monitor on a desk, a shredded leather seat, and a Brotherhood of Steel sleeping pack was all the furniture that inhabited it. He held his arms out, ejecting from his Power Armor, leaving the light on on top of his visor until he lit a candle on the desk with a pack of pre-war matches. The flames illuminated his orange jumpsuit, allowing him to see his reflection in the shattered pieces of the terminal screen.
Danse sat in the chair, not entirely sure if it would hold his weight. He took a deep breath, trying to relinquish some of his stress unto the small room.
"It's no Prydwen, but it's got us this far."He observed the broken ceiling fan above him, trying to picture what the office looked like before the bombs fell.
He entertained the idea of being the deputy of the station, dealing with minor day-to-day petty crimes and getting excited over real investigative work- like homicides.
"I wonder if the last person who sat in this chair condemned four great soldiers to their deaths, too."
Guilt shattered his peaceful illusion.
Danse's fingers wound themselves up to the strap underneath his chin, tossing the hood he wore under his helmet to the floor. It landed on a broken picture frame, the glass bits moving under the fabric as they collided.
He leaned over to retrieve the abused garment and placed it on the desk, "That's what I get for being careless. Glass in my hood."
There was a picture behind the shards- of a uniformed man, what looked to be his wife, and a small girl that was probably his daughter. Danse delicately picked up the printed parcel, wanting to lose himself in another daydream. His memories of his parents were hazy, and he hadn't really known any kind of love outside of the Brotherhood. The love between soldiers who put themselves on the line for the cause, who'd die at the command of-
"It's not your fault." Danse repeated Haylen's words in his head to comfort himself.
He folded the picture in half, stowing it away in a pocket close to his chest.
"Maybe not all the knick-knacks around here are useless."He thought, hoisting himself out of the chair at the call of Haylen's voice that got lost somewhere between the, "I got most of my squadron murdered," and the "What's it like to have a family?" monologues in his head.
Danse sat next to Haylen, who passed out equally divided and strategically rationed portions of pre-preserved food to him and the Knight.
He had a family, Danse reminded himself as he tore into some kind of vegetable paste that tasted of rot and cheap military budgets.
He allowed himself to enjoy the company of only family he ever needed.
The only family he ever knew.
The Brotherhood of Steel.
Author's Notes:
1. The chapters get longer as the story progresses.
2. My style in writing has changed over the last year. Newer chapters will be significantly more refined than the older ones.
3. Beta'd by MjrGenMatt as of Chapter 22
4. Disclaimer: THIS FAN FICTION IS EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY!