The Lighthouse Perspective

Chapter 4: Contact

Scribe Mendel and the local town doctor of Grayditch were examining the vitals of the seriously wounded Dr. Lesko and Operative Alvarado. Lesko was lying on the bed with his head bandaged, tape making sure his eyes were closed, and an impromptu suction device in his mouth that made sure he didn't choke on his own saliva. He had not been responsive for hours, at worst the doctor thought the man had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and at best it was a bad concussion. Either way, the good doctor Lesko had lost the operation of part of his brain, now it was a waiting game to try and bring the man back to consciousness. The Brotherhood Operative, Alvarado, on the other hand would make a full recovery. It would take months for his shoulder to heal and even years of therapy after that, but in the end the young Operative would be able to use his arm. However, there was now a portion of his shoulder that would be missing and grotesque scar that would stay with him forever. The doctors had to remove the chest plate to his combat armor by cutting it off, making sure not to aggravate the wound further by accidentally touching it some dirty armor. He lay on an old hospital gurney that had been reconstituted for the Grayditch clinic in a chemically induced sleep.

Operative Lolli Pop was not in danger of any serious wounds, the worst was a lump on the back of his skull. He woke up slowly, his sight was hazy as it returned to him as he gained his bearings. He noticed that he was no longer outside, or over Lesko punching him in the head. Pop tried to rub the back of his but couldn't move his arms. He looked down to see his wrists had been tied to the side of a rickety gurney. Pop struggled from side to side, trying to see if the cords would give way, to no avail. He turned his head from side to side, wincing as the lump rolled against the back of the hard mat.

Pop could just make out the form of Alvarado lying in the hospital gurney next to him. He tried to gain the attention of his partner by making some noises to get his attention. The drug induced sleep was too deep to even allow Alvarado to be awaken when Pop called out his name. Resigned to the fact that his partner had been drugged, Pop returned to trying to loosen the cords that tied his hands to the gurney. He pulled and pulled, trying to twist the cords with his wrists. The shifting on the gurney became more violent as he put more force into his movement; the two hundred year old gurney could no longer support him and with one violent thrust at his bindings, Operative Pop tipped the gurney over.

The sound was deafening and the impact startled Pop, he opened his eyes again to see that his arms and legs were okay, nothing broken. The door to Lolli's backside opened as he heard two sets of feet enter the room. There was a shuffle as they walked around the gurney he could hear the audible sigh a relief that was exhaled.

"It's alright," one of them called out to the front room, as he felt the gurney be lifted and tipped upright.

"Why am I tied up," he asked, seeing for the first time the face of the Brotherhood Scribe and another man in a white lab coat with combat boots and pants on.

"For our safety," he said with indifference.

"I'm not here to hurt anyone," pleaded Lolli Pop, "I'm a member of the Brotherhood of Steel."

"We believe you," affirmed the scribe, "Jenson and Kagan vouched for you and your partner."

"Still doesn't mean your safe to be around," replied the town doctor as he took out stethoscope to listen to Pop's heart, "Lesko sure doesn't think you're safe...that is if he's still thinking. I need better equipment."

The last part was directed to the Scribe, "listen, Doctor Caius, the Brotherhood doesn't have anything like that ourselves. The best we have is a converted Mister Gutsy unit that does field triage."

"The man is going to die, unless I have better equipment," he said as he walked over to Lesko, pressing two fingers on his jugular and looking at his wrist watch.

"Scribe, about Lesko," started Pop as he looked up at her in the maroon robes.

"Don't you think you've done enough to the man already," she said crossing her arms.

"He's Enclave," said Lolli Pop firmly.

The town doctor scoffed shaking his head, "Lesko was never in the Enclave."

"We have proof," continued Lolli Pop as he struggled against his binds, "in my notebook...if you looked through it you'll see what it says. It's also on his encrypted journal that I hacked in his shack."

"Which you entered illegally," answered Scribe Mendel.

"There isn't a law out here in the wastes!" Shouted Lolli Pop as he fought against his constraints.

"We're the law," answered the scribe, "we're the protectors, the jurists, and the executioners where and when we need to be."

"Law is civilization," replied the doctor as he walked from Lesko's gurney, "as long as civilization exists, law will exist. Property, especially in the wasteland, is the most fundamental law."

"You're both crazy," commented the operative as he continued to struggle against his bonds, "Lesko is or was in the Enclave. He's the evil one here! Not Alvarado! Not ME!"

"Lesko was never in the Enclave," said the doctor, "trust me."

"I don't trust either of you now," replied Pop as he stared from Mendel to Caius, "give me proof."

"Lesko wasn't in the Enclave, I know this for a fact," commented the doctor as he rolled the sleeve of his left arm up to show a black 'E' surrounded by twelve black five-pointed stars on his forearm, "because I'm Enclave."

Pop began to struggle against the restraints more, the cords now cutting into his wrists, the Brotherhood scribe held down his shoulders and yelled to the Enclave doctor, "get a sedative quickly;" the doctor turned around picked up a syringe and jammed it into the interior thigh of the Operative.

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban had exited out of Ancostia Crossing. The were walking by the entrance of Rivet City when they heard someone whistle. The power armor helmets turned and reflected the receding sunlight into the eyes of the person on top of the battlements. The Rivet City Security uniform denoted the person's position and the P100 Plasma Rifle, which had been stripped from a dead Enclave grunt, informed Ban that was Officer Lepelletier. Newton and Ban walked up the ramp, their power armor clanking on the metal as they made it up to see the head of Purifier Security.

"Hail, Lepelletier," greeted Ban, holding up his left hand from the laser rifle strapped to his chest, "how's the water?"

"Cold," answered the woman as she brushed the black hair from her eyes, "where have you two Knight come from?"

"Sightseeing at the Mall, safe and secure, for the most part," replied Ban as he rested his hands against his laser rifle at the trigger guard and barrel, "what can we do for you."

"Good to see the Brotherhood of Steel has learned some manners," she said as she walked back to her desk and picked up a clip board.

Ban laughed a little and elbowed Newton to laugh with him, she joined hesitantly, "only for you and your boys Lepelletier. We give respect where it is due."

"Flattery will get you everything, Knight," she flipped through some pages, "I had a shipment leave recently for this new place, Friendship Heights, they should've been back Yesterday."

Ban and Newton looked at each other, "was anyone with them besides our guys."

"Just two Brotherhood, caravan driver and one pack brahmin," she said, "you might want to talk with Bigsley, I bet he's anxious to get the brahmin back."

"We'll talk with him," said Ban with a nod, "Steel be with you, Lepelletier."

"Can't you guys just ever say goodbye?" She asked frustrated as she went back to the desk.

"Goodbye," said Newton as her and Ban kept walking down the metal ramp.

"Whatever," said Office Lepelletier as they walked over to Project Purity, ducking through the rusted beams of a former super mutant outpost before climbing the ramps to the walkway to get the research station.

They walked down the dark hallway til they came to the entrance of Project Purity. The scribes were sitting against the wall in several chairs with books and ledgers balanced on their laps. Scribe Bigsley could be heard typing away in his office on the rectified terminal. Ban and Newton walked up to the door and opened it.

"Don't you know how to knock," said the scribe as he looked up to see the two Knights walk in, "back already, hand over my caps will you."

"I'm sorry, Scribe," said Ban as he stared the man down through his power helmet, "what caps are you talking about?"

"What? You're not the same two I sent of to that raider camp, are you?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes, the large bags stretching.

"No, we are not, Scribe," replied Ban with disdain, "and for the future, please don't use our personnel for your corrupt business."

"Go ahead, tell Elder Lyons," Scribe Bigsley waved off Ban and Newton, "what could he do, exile me? You need me here, no one else can do what I do! The worst that'll happen is Lyons will give me a slap on the wrist and extend my sentence here. I refuse to suck up to him like Yearling. We're better than that, at least I have the morals to stick to my ideas."

"Watch your tongue, Scribe," said Ban as he rubbed the trigger guard in show.

"Fine, jeez, Knight," said Bigsley in sarcasm, "I'm sorry. Even though I'm right, I'm sorry I'm right. Now what are you here for?"

Ignoring the faux apology, Ban started to grind his teeth as he asked, "what news from the other two that transported aqua pura to Friendship Heights?"

"None," said Bigsley as he went back to the terminal and continued typing.

Ban, his temper getting the better of him, moved up to the desk and grabbed the scribe by his robes, "where are they?"

"Hey!" Shouted Bigsley as Ban manhandled him, "I was serious, last I know they were on the way to Friendship Heights. I don't know anything else."

Ban let go forcing Bigsley to fall back into his chair, "we're going to Friendship Heights, lead the way Newton."

Newton took out her map and looked for the quickest possible route as Ban and her left the office, "they're probably already dead, you know. Make sure to collect their tech!"

Roe woke up with a splitting headache, he moaned as he tried to orient himself. In so doing, he feel from the top bunk on to the metal floor, luckily it bore his weight but still stung as he disentangled himself from the sheets. Zimm shot up in the bottom bunk as he heard the loud noise, the low sagging top bunk was in the way of his head. He yelped and held his hands to his head to try and stop the ringing.

J.R. opened one groggy eye to see his two other bunk mates in their misfortunes. The night had been one of copious drinking and story telling. Roe had done most of the telling, even drunk he was a semi-believable liar. J.R. and Zimm, for the most part, supplemented their taciturn style with shots and beer chasers. They involved themselves in several games, including caps and kings. As most drinking games are, the rules of both broke down midway when the participants were pretty well hammered.

It was in the early morning that the Operatives had crawled into bed, to get some sleep before they started to do their job, ask questions, and listen in on conversations. Under the watchful eye, ear, and hand of Moriarty Senior, their job was going to prove more difficult. J.R. threw his legs out of bed and tried to sit up straight. He hunched over and spit on the floor, licking his lips to wet them, he still tasted the whiskey from last night.

Roe managed to get up straight and untangle himself, he was in the in process of staring in the mirror and splashing water on his face. Zimm was rubbing his head with one hand and putting on a boot with another. As he tried to lace it up with one hand, Zimm groaned and realized he needed the power of two hands to do his boots. Roe shook his head to dry it off and turned to see his team.

"Alright boys," he said, his voice sore and like gravel, "we need to gather some intel. Zach, we could really use a communication relay, see if this town has one. Ham radio, holotape typer, paper and pencil, I don't care, we're just going to need to contact Alexandria and give them a status update."

"Any place you suggest," asked Zimm as he looked to J.R. who was the local resident.

"Walter may know something," the blank look from Zimm made J.R. continue, "he's at the purifier plant, up top near Simm's place."

"Gotcha," said Zimm as he did up his other boot.

"Any old contacts you can utilize," asked Roe of J.R. who shook his head.

"Haven't been around in a while, and there are some new faces," he said staring at his hands, "not to mention, I'm certain 'dad' would want to spend time with me. Day usually isn't the best for his Saloon."

"Can you handle it?" Asked Roe seriously.

"Sure, whatever," replied J.R.

"If you get in trouble ask someone to get me," Roe continued, "I'm going to try and see what happened to Simms, not everyone here can be afraid of Moriarty or have their facts based on rumor."

"I'd check that reasoning at the door," said J.R. as started to fit his boots on.

"I hope the rest of the city is like us," commented Zimm as he rubbed his head and reached for the chest plate of his combat armor.

"They're a hard bunch," joked J.R. with a bit of smile, "they have whiskey for blood and copper for stomachs."

Quin Schieber and Anna LaCroix were talking with Boadicea intimately. They had removed their helmets to be able to talk in whispers. The caravan driver was talking with some of the others in the reformed raider camp. He had unloaded the water and was now discussing trade with them on the odds and ends he had. He showed them some worn out pistols, cloth, sewing materials and other items that he was decided to sell at highly inflated rates.

"So you've been under constant mutant attack," surmised LaCroix.

"Every other day, two or three come around," answered the encampment leader, "last one had a minigun."

"These fortifications won't hold them off forever," Schieber examined the cheap wooden barricade.

"These were the best temporary ones we could construct," said Boadicea as she paced back and forth, the grim had built up all over her face and on her bald head.

"The good part is that you have a lot of able body people and weapons," commented LaCroix as she looked to see the stock piled ammo boxes.

"We've lost five men so far," said the former raider leader, "our numbers are now in the mid twenties, we can't even escape into the tunnels because they're outside of the fortifications. Our scout, Gregor, is missing. This is anything but lucky."

"Don't become distressed," said Schieber as he leaned forward, "we don't need your men to panic."

"You're right," she said looking into his eyes, "it would have been so much easier to keep ourselves nomadic."

"If you did, we couldn't supply you with water," said LaCroix, "I just hope you have enough food."

"We have plenty of that from the kennels," Aden, the large black man with the flamer that had saved the Operatives a few weeks ago said as he joined the group, "the water will be a big help though, rather not have the men dazed and hazy on alcohol while we're under attack."

"Where do the mutties come from," asked LaCroix as she took out their map.

"From the east," said Aden as he pointed on the map from their marker to the eastern areas.

"Okay, what we can do in the interim is cut small gun ports into the barricade," said Schieber as he pointed to two specific areas per board, "if you have them set up at the two/thirds mark in either way, you'd be able to create a cross fire. That cross fire will allow for multiple shooters on one target, so more damage, less time, and less ammo. The only draw back is that the barricade is weak, so any muttie that gets too close can have a chance to do some real damage to it."

"What else can we do to strengthen the barricade," asked Aden as he smoked a stale cigar.

"There were some burnt out cars on the road and in the parking lot," said LaCroix, "stack them or tip them over and use as a reinforcement."

"If we can get them over, those suckers weigh a ton," commented Aden as he puffed out a gray cloud of stale smoke.

"The gear shift will be rusted shut, same with the axles," pondered Schieber as he rubbed his chin, "it'll be back breaking labor, but if we tether them and pull with all of the men, we should be able to pull them to us and then tip them on the side and prop them up. Would you let me configure that flamer for welding?"

Aden held up his trusty weapon, "will you be able to undo it? Or get me a new one?"

"We'll see which comes first, but it looks like we have a long night ahead of us," said Schieber as Boadicea went to gather the men, he turned to LaCroix, "and can you get that brahmin, I'm sure the caravan guide wouldn't mind with the proper influence."

It took the whole night, working from dusk to dawn to move the five or so cars and then tip them over next to the wooden walls of the barricade. Instead of carving the holes, which became impossible with the cars in the way, several step ladders were put in place for the former raiders to to shoot down from. Schieber had done the welding himself after modifying Aden's flamer. Given more time and material, Friendship Heights could have been better fortified, however for the time constraints and the threat of super mutants, heavy walls and brute force would have to do. The rolling gate was closed once again, the majority of the men going back to their bunks to sleep.

Probably the second best find they were able to get were two working fusion reactors from the cars. Schieber was to run them parallel, teaching another one of Boadicea's men how attach more later on, and power two sets of flood lights. The flood lights were helpful during the night because it illuminated the front side of the Heights. The obvious danger with having the lights on was the attraction of any hostile people or creatures. However, the intense power of them blinded any individual that looked at them directly, nor could they see the sentry that was posted behind each one at the wall. It would be better to see the enemy than just to see their tracer rounds.

Schieber and LaCroix were sitting at one of the picnic tables sharing food. Aden was watching from one of the step ladders. Boadicea was talking with her men as they readied ammunition. The caravan driver was tying up his brahmin to a metal post. He then sat down with the Operatives, taking out his own can of cram and popping it's lid.

"Guess we caught them on a bad day," said the caravan driver.

"Try a bad week," commented LaCroix, exhausted from the night's work.

"So when do we move out?" The caravan driver was desperate to leave a war zone and frontier city.

"When we can," answered Schieber.

"Can't we leave now," said the trader, Schieber and LaCroix stared at him coldly, "seriously, you two have done wonders for them, now it's time for them to do the rest."

"I rather not get shot from behind," answered LaCroix as she ate some more.

"Nor captured by a muttie," nodded Schieber.

Unknown to all those now confined to the fortified Friendship Heights, there were two parties coming to see them. On from the south, comprised of two Brotherhood of Steel members. And one from the east, which consisted of several super mutants and centaurs. The ate calmly, not saying much. After the breakfast, it was time to check, double check, and fix all weaponry. The super mutants would surely come after all the activity from the night, but this time, they would be hit hard.

It was midday, break time at the Alexandria for the servants and the new owners. Star Paladin Bael was eating in the cafeteria alone. Yearling was busy at work in Arlington Library, Galeas and Bors were presently playing a game of pool. One of the younger servant girls, Bael couldn't remember her name, was watching the front door. Yearling had installed an alarm system, that if anyone unwarranted broke through it would alert the rest to duty. He sighed heavily and stabbed unknown meat product with his fork.

Elias had finished his afternoon prayers and relying heavily on his crutches made his way to the cafeteria. He took some brahmin milk and stale cereal in a bowl. The gun shot wound had been aching him, but Elias knew that it was just a slow healing wound. He sat across from Bael, who looked up to see him before returning to his meal.

"Good afternoon," greeted Elias politely.

Bael grunted as he stabbed his meat and looked at the man. Elias decided to press the conversation forward, "and how are you doing today Star Paladin?"

"Fine," answered Bael tersely.

"It seems we've had an incident the other day," continued Elias as he stirred his cereal in the brahmin milk, "some words were said that rather upset one of the servants."

"I apologized," Bael now was staring intently at Elias, the other man could only help but smile.

"That does not change the threat my people feel," said the former raider and tribal, "we volunteered to do menial labor thinking that you would provide us a better life than what is out there in the wastes. We have all seen the changes the occur within people out there. In here, in this sanctuary, it should be different. Do you know what I am talking about?"

"Do you want me to apologize to all the servants," asked Bael as he sat back and crossed his arms.

"If you feel that is necessary, I will gather them," said Elias with a smile, "however, I'd prefer a more regulated treatment of us, if you didn't mind."

"What do you mean regulated treatment," Bael had forgotten about his meal completely.

"Well, even though we do your cleaning, organizing and cooking for large meals," continued Elias, "to be treated as humans, whatever our former station was, in this present. No threats of death, pain, or dismemberment from you or your people should be levied on mine. To make this situation work for the best of our two worlds, we need to work together."

"I hear what you're saying," said Bael as he put his finger down on the table, pressing into it, "but there is a problem with your thought, there is only one world. Not two. We are here, and so are you. Working together would be beneficial to both of us, agreed. But you will be held to the same standard of any of my Operatives, is that understood?"

"Agreed, Star Paladin," said Elias passively, "just as long as you understand that you will be held to the same standard of any of us caretakers."

Bael thought for a moment and nodded, thinking it would be easy to fulfill the needs of the caretakers; he slid his meat dish over to head servant and took his cereal for himself, "you need protein for that wound to heal quickly."

"Thank you," said Elias as they ate in silence.

J.R. had walked down the stairs to the main room of the Saloon. His father, Colin Moriarty Senior was already awake and at the bar stool. He was drinking a glass of water, the bottle labeled aqua pura was on the counter as well. The person he was talking with, the Sheriff of Megaton Jericho, was there with him, but instead of water he was drinking from a flask containing whiskey. They were in hushed conversation the whole time until J.R. made it all the way down the steps.

"There he is, my little business man," greeted Moriarty with a cheery smile, "you have made me a rich man last night, Junior, did you know that."

"What are you talking about...dad," said J.R. trying not to grit his teeth in disdain, "the drinks were on the house as you said."

"The drinks were on the house for the night," corrected Moriarty Senior, "but as soon as that clock struck midnight, the tabs started piling up. Luckily I have a good collection system so it looks like you helped me make over a thousand caps last night getting half of Megaton drunk."

J.R. shook his head, this was what he hated about the man he was born too, "I'm sure those caps will make you happy, dad."

"Damn straight, more caps equals more investments," continued Moriarty as he clapped his son on the back, "and while you can't buy happiness, it sure makes life a lot easier."

"Amen," said Jericho as he slung back his flask.

"Junior, you remember Jericho, right?" Asked Moriarty Senior.

"I remember you hated the retired murderer," said J.R. was strong stare at former raider.

"I'm not old enough to retire," rejoined Jericho, his voice like gravel from years of smoking and whiskey drinking.

"He's proved useful in recent years," continued Moriarty with a sympathetic nod to his sheriff, "but I have some business that's going to take me away from Megaton for the day, I'd appreciate it if you tagged along with Jericho for awhile. You and I will catch up soon, better than what we did yesterday."

"I'd rather stick with you, dad," J.R. forced himself to say, "what is this business meeting for anyways?"

"Just your typical watering hole business," said Moriarty as he took another sip of water, "but the deal was for me to be there with a certain amount of people, and I'm sorry Junior, but you need to stay here. Jericho will show you how Megaton has started to grow under me. Hell, you should show him the prison!"

"That'll be fun," agreed Jericho with a inhuman smile, "I was going to check on the guards anyway."

"What do you mean expanding Megaton," pushed J.R.

"Oh, I'll show you boy," said Jericho as he stood up, "but you might want to bring a weapon. You know, for safety."

Zimm had walked up to the top platform to get to the water processing plant. The large building held the purification of the town's water supply, along with the running water system. It was the life blood of Megaton, taking the moisture from the air, along with the water collected from the raining season, and holding it in a reservoir to be used through out the year. Zachary Zimm knew nothing of Walter, the lead engineer and plant maintainer, but if anyone knew of a working communication unit within Megaton, it would be him.

He knocked on the corrugated metal door, making it clang against it's metal door posts. There was no answer for a few minutes so he knocked again. The door opened to a black man with white hair and beard, his weathered face denoting his advanced age, in an engineer jumpsuit. The man looked Zimm up and down and then around him before pulling him inside.

"What do you want," he asked abruptly.

"Sir, I was just wondering if you knew where I could find a transmitter of some kind or maybe a holotape writer," answered Zimm.

"No," said Walter as he began to Zimm out the door, "good day."

"Sir, please, I think you'd know, you're the chief engineer here," said Zimm as he was being tossed out the door.

"Check with Moira Brown," he said as he got Zach to the threshold, "on ramp down, Craterside Supply, good day."

"Uh, thank you," Zimm said to the closed door at his face as he walked down the ramp to the supply store.

He opened the door to Craterside Supply and stepped in. The first person to catch his attention was an attentive mercenary that leaned against a wall with his arms cross. The rifle on his back and the gun strapped to his him made him armed enough to take down a few people at a time. Behind the counter of the store was Moira Brown. She had dark red hair and freckles on her pale complexion, she wore an engineer uniform like Walter.

"Hi there, don't mind him, just some protection for those that want to steal from me," she greeted cheerily, "I'm Moira Brown and this the Craterside Supply. You're one of those guys that Moriarty threw the party for last night. That was something else, wasn't it? I don't remember getting so many free drinks from Moriarty like that, but once I heard that you brought little Colin back I had to go and check it out. I didn't catch your name, is it true you and little Colin are mercenaries?"

Zimm tried to follow the fast paced voice but found himself unable to, "uh, yea...name's not too important, but nice to meet you. Walter told me to stop by..."

"Ol' Walt is a great guy," started Moira as she polished her counter top, "knows about machines, pressurized systems, and steam works. But I guess you have to if you want to be the water processing manager and engineer. Heard he's trying to teach Leo Stahl the trade, maybe as a way to give him some discipline, or maybe so he can make some extra caps. So why did Walter send you to me?"

Utterly confused, Zach tried to press on, "I was looking for a transmitter or holotape writer."

"Transmitters in town are hard to come by, you need a large amount of power and Megaton just get's enough from the turbines. Hmmm, getting a transmitter here wouldn't be a bad idea, maybe I could make a broadcast to give other music options," thought Moira Brown out loud, Zimm cleared his throat, "oh right, sorry. I...I tend to do that with good ideas, and even some not so great ideas. But you never know til you try, right? But for a holotape writer, that's easy. The Late Sheriff, Lucas Simms, had one in his house. I'm sure it's still there since Harden runs the house."

"Harden runs the Simms house?" Asked Zimm for confirmation.

"Well of course Harden runs the Simms house, he is Lucas' only son after all," she said as if everyone knew, "try knocking on the door or waiting till he returns, I'm sure he'll let you use the holotape writer."

"Is there any delivery service out here," he asked finally before leaving.

"Like a postal service, hardly, though that would be a great idea now that I think about it," she said as she began to stare off past the far wall, "oh sorry, I keep on doing that, don't I? Well, no, there isn't a delivery service out here, anyways. Usually you just ask one of the caravan traders when they come buy to deliver a message for you if you pay them enough caps and the place is on their route."

Zimm nodded, "Moira, you've been more then helpful. Thank you."

"Your welcome," she said as she waved as he started to leave, "good luck getting that holotape writer and come back now, you hear."

Zimm made his way to Lucas Simms house and knocked on the door. With no answer, he leaned against the exterior wall and waited for the owner, Harden Simms, to come back.

Roe walked down the stairs to the local church. He had heard of the Church of the Children of Atom, from caravan traders and when he rode the routes himself, but never had he stepped into the church itself. It was simple pews and podium, along with living chambers for those that followed this way of salvation. Roe could not agree with it, the idea of universes within universes was beyond his thought for he only saw the present.

But he was not looking to be converted to the Church of the Children of Atom, he was looking for those who had preformed the burial rites on Lucas Simms. The Church, as the only major religion within Megaton, was also responsible for burials. The usual burial site was a hill top to the south west of the city, where the soil was softer and gave a great view over the Potomac and downtown. He walked up to the first pew and sat down. Not soon after he sat down that an middle aged black woman with white hair sat down next to him.

"Welcome, child of atom," she said, not looking at him but ahead to the podium, "I am Mother Maya, wife to Confessor Cromwell, we tend the flock here at Megaton."

"It is good to see the Church of the Children of Atom has a strong following," answered Roe as turned to look at the woman, "but I am not here to convert, Mother Maya."

"Nor am I here to force it upon you," she answered with a kind smile and twinkle in her eyes, "we are not like that other group that used to be a sect of our own church."

"There are militant members of the Church, Mother," asked Roe trying to piece the ideas together.

"I hesitate to call them militant, dear child," she replied softly, "but they have sought to force the power of Atom on the people. That is not the way of his will, but to convince them otherwise seems unlikely. That is not why you are here though."

"No, Mother, it is not," answered Roe truthfully, "I am here because of the late Sheriff, Lucas Simms."

"He was a good man," she looked Roe in the eyes with clear pain, "a good man that was taken into Atom's arms too soon. He has been sorely missed this past year. I do not wish to speak ill of the new Sheriff, but he has not be too friendly to the children of Atom; however, Atom still smiles upon him."

"How did Simms die," asked Roe, directly to the point, "the real answer, not the rumor. As the burial tenders, the Church should know."

"It was I who bathed him and wrapped him for burial," a tear leaked down her cheek as she brushed it away, "he had been shot five times in the lower back, the bullets had rattled around inside...the muzzle burns were on the skin...I wish Atom had taken him another way that would have not been as painful."

Roe noted mentally that the weapon had been close, caused internal damage and bleeding, and was suppressed as no one claims to have heard it, "do you have any idea who might have committed such an act?"

"One person comes to mind, because of his interest in the gift from Atom," said Mother Maya as she took out a piece of paper, "I tried to talk with him once, but he yelled at me for my dirtiness and told me that I would see the next universe myself."

She handed the piece of paper to Roe and it simply read: Mister Burke. He tucked it into his inner jacket pocket and stood up. He thanked Mother Maya and made a small donation to the church before walking out the door.

Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Ban were walking down the road after having made the right turn at Farragut West Metro Station. The road was broken with a lot of debris as they continued to walk, getting closer to where Hannah had marked out the Friendship Heights Settlement. As they continued they decided to split the street, walking on each side and keeping their eyes peeled ahead of them. There was a feeling of tension in the air, the lack of noise made the hair on the back of Ban's neck stand at end.

They came to see five upturned cars forming a wall behind the Metro entrance. On top was a scout in ragged clothing with an overcoat. He scanned the old street slowly turning to where the two members of the Brotherhood of Steel had just come from.

"Hurry up," he barked as he turned around yelled out an order bellow, "get through the gate quickly!"

The one area that did not have a car on it slide open, Ban and Newton rushed to it and into the settlement. They looked around to see the former raiders covered in dirt filth as they went about their chores. Two others with power armor were easy to spot, they were huddled over a map with a bald woman with twin bandoliers. Newton and Ban walked to them and removed their helmets.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," said Schieber as padded Newton on the shoulder.

"Heard you two didn't make it back to Bigsley," said Ban as he nodded to settlement leader.

"Boadicea," she introduced herself.

"Ban," he answered as he turned to the other Operatives, "what seems to be the problem."

"Super mutants keep attacking," answered Boadicea, "usually in packs of two or three. They've been quiet for nearly a day, something is up."

"We're thinking they're amassing more numbers," answered LaCroix.

"My scouts have made it back and said that they were able to find them fifty meters out and to the east," Boadicea pointed to a ruin area on the map, "but they are well fortified there, better than we are."

"The ruins to the north would be great for sniping," answered Newton as she pointed to the high rising ruins near the parking lot.

"I can't risk having any of my men separated," the chieftain answered.

"We have an area of defense here," said Schieber as he point to the wall, "while not the best, it is suitable."

"So you suggest we wait for them to attack," answered Ban, "I'm not sure I like that."

"It's better now that we have more fire power," pointed out LaCroix to Ban's laser rifle, "but after their initial retreat, we should keep on engaging in groups."

"How man would be left behind for defense," asked the older Knight with more battle field experience."

"Ten men, with the better amount of supplies and weapons," replied Boadicea, "we can't risk losing either, specially if they mutties attack in teams."

"So three fire teams," answered Ban as he drew on the map in pencil of three circles moving and replacing each other at points, "stop, reload and allow another to advance giving cover fire. Could work, but if they swing around..."

"My men can hold them off," said Boadicea firmly to the Knight.

"THEY'RE COMING!" Shouted the sentry from up top as he ducked down.

"Let's hope so," said Ban as he put on his helmet.

Seven defenders climbed the wall at the ladders and began to fire, Schieber made certain he was one of them. The first wave were three super mutants with sledgehammers and grenades. One was taken down right away with a rifle shot from the closest settlement defender. The next muttie pulled the pin in the grenade, but Schieber was able to shoot it out of the creatures right hand, causing it to hit the ground and explode. The shrapnel sunk into the leg of the super mutant as it continued to limp forward, wielding it's sledgehammer. Soon it's head was removed from it's genetically altered body. The last mutant had lobbed a grenade at the door, but it had hit the rim and bounced off into the settlement.

One of the defenders fell onto the grenade just as it exploded, the concussion force and shrapnel tearing apart the abdominal cavity. Another defender quickly ran up to the ladder just as the final super mutant was shot down before it could reach the wall. Two of the other defenders from the back decided to retrieve their fallen brethren, as they picked him up by his arms and legs, his shredded insides poured out onto the concrete. The bile from his stomach, blood from his guts, and gaseous waste from his intestines spread through out the camp making everyone gag, and lift up their shirts to cover their mouths and noses.

The Operatives in their power armor were thankful for the airtight seals. Schieber, thought, was kicking himself for not having fixed it in the down time he was there. He regretted the acidic and foul stench that was filling his suit and stung his eyes, but he kept focus as he blinked and sweated. The next wave of super mutants were fast approaching, three more but this time with hunting rifles. The mutants took their aim from far off and fired into the metal cars. Several defenders ducked behind the wall despite the bad aim from the mutants.

Unable to stand it any long, Schieber removed his helmet with one hand and threw it off. The sweat poured freely from his brow as the inescapable stench of death lessened from his nostrils. He took aim with his R91, staring down the sight to the center mutant and squeeze the trigger as he held it to the battlement. The first thee shots missed, but the next three impacted with the creatures skull, exploding half of it outwards from the eye. The pot shots from the mutants were getting better aimed as they approached.

Ban ran over and kicked one of the defenders off the wall and aimed for one of the mutants. His laser beam shot true and burnt a hole through the neck of one of the approaching super mutants. The final one was taken down by both Schieber and Ban perforating it thoroughly. The super mutants kept on coming, flooding in file by file. Ban turned to behind the wall.

"Get more men, weapons, and ammo to the front, now!" He ordered as those that stood behind at the ready, "we have some meat to grind!"