I do not own Fallout, nor do I own the rights to the Fallout Universe. No profit is being derived from this work of fiction, it is purely for pleasure.

Between Two Cities

Chapter 4.) Truths Without Fact

Samuel Warrick wanted to do the honorable and good actions that opportunity afforded, based on a ratio of profit and danger. He wanted to give the Republic a chance at revenge. Instead they snubbed their nose at him. Now he did what he needed to, to make his money. Unfortunately, the slavers and raiders of Evergreen Mills had enough caps to quench the bounty hunter's thrust for caps.

While the citizens of Canterbury Commons, like the merchant king Ernest Roe, didn't want to admit slaves were sold in his quant little town. A blind eye was turned to these underground black market deals. An old lair of a super villain that terrorized the town now housed some independent raiders and those loyal to the Mills. Public sales were not allowed in the Anti-Agonizer's former nest. Only special invitation was given due to the paranoia the Independents faced near civilized society.

Slavery was part of the black market in Canterbury Commons, along with sex and illicit chems. The half remaining utility tunnels gave way to caverns of rock and beams. Warrick tread carefully down the halls, armed slavers and seedy merchants starring him in the eyes and through the back of his head. He walked the maintenance tunnels and caverns till he got to the main underground cavern. The remains of the Ant-Agonizers throne still stood, a passed out drunk raider lounging on the chair. Several Independents from Evergreen Mills sat around a table, their slaves chained to a moist cave wall.

"Who here represents the Foreman," asked Warrick as the card game went quiet with his presence.

"We all speak for him," responded a man in leather armor that was reinforced with metal, his complexion dark and his hair a mix of salt and pepper.

"Then I have and offer, to help out the Mills," presented Warrick.

"Bounty hunter, speak your mind," the man's tone was dismissive, though his impatience wore thin, "come, hunter, wag your tongue!"

"I would prefer to do it more privately," said Warrick as he pointed out the chained slaves on the cavern wall.

"Do not fret the merchandise," the Independent said as he played his cards at the table.

"I have built a connection with the Republic's man in Canterbury Commons," said Warrick as he man eyed him and folded the next hand, "seeing as the Foreman specializes in concrete and the Republic specializes in brick and mortar…."

"Enough, bounty hunter, what is your price?" asked the Independent as he took a piece of paper to write a crude message on.

"I would like fifteen thousand caps," answered Warrick, loving how slavers would wheel and deal with bigger purses, not being picky on the opportunities that became available.

"Okay, you know Foreman won't go for that," answered the raider as he scrawled on the paper, "I'm going to ask him to free up twelve thousand caps for your info, along with your cooperation in the future, of course."

"What do you mean by cooperation," Sam became weary with the words this Independent was using.

"We may call on you to help us," said the raider, "might be in your field of expertise, or not."

Samuel Warrick was hesitant with the way this raider phrased that particular statement. As a bounty hunter, he was independent and sought no support from an organization on a permanent basis. Warrick decided on who were his clients and refused to sign with any organization, from Littlehorn and Associates to the Regulators, as he preferred to be his own boss. Evergreen Mills was him 'on call' did not sit well in his gut. He left the underground lair with a shiver traveling down his back.

In a dingy room above a lesser known bar sat two people. Both came from different walks of life in the wasteland. Mayor Henry Fleet ran the City of Grayditch, the fastest growing settlement carved out of the ruins of D.C. Elizabeth Jameson was the Head Scribe for the Brotherhood of Steel. Fleet was one of the best connected individuals in the Capital Wasteland, whereas Jameson was one of the most educated people. They were not lovers or even colleagues, so when the two of them were seen in entering the less then admirable tavern, patrons took notice.

Fleet knew that word will travel fast and his position as Mayor might be short lived because of his relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel. He admitted to himself that their organization was useful, when they chose to be. The rule of law and the ability to enforce it through a judicial system, and Marshall Lawson's men, arrived on the shoulders of Jameson. And despite the promotion of a fair judiciary and trial system, one member of her Brotherhood had been killed out of the legal code and another exiled. She was his only choice when it came to solving issues with the Five Settlement Talks.

The Five Settlement Talks were in a dead stall. Fleet had been intercepting messages from couriers to find out more information on the representatives. Intercepting these messages was easy as most businesses, merchants, and caravans were loyal to Grayditch for making caps over fist. Seagrave Holmes had been putting off a return to Rivet City for his new start up in Grayditch, Holmes Hardwar and Supplies. Truth was, Rivet City was pressuring him to return and he was stalling. It was as easy to find out information on Vala of Friendship Heights and Billy Creel of Megaton. Burke, on the other hand, was silent as a graveyard.

Vala had been working with the city engineers on a sewage and drainage system for her town. She was unable to read or write, but pictures meant a lot more to her and her people. The blocked utilities tunnels and metro system limited their ability to tap into the pre – war sewage lines. Creel was looking more into the well-being of his adopted daughter Maggie. Moriarty still had her under his watch, along with Creel's caravan business that Maggie gallantly upheld. Burke seemed to not pass messages back to Tenpenny Tower, or if he did it was out of Fleet's reach.

"So he's been completely unattached on the whole treaty," confirmed Jameson as she read over the notes, slightly shocked by the focus on a water backed cap economy similar to the New California Republic out west.

"Mister Burke prefers his whiskey served chilled, his room heated, and his couriers must be from Tenpenny directly as I can't track them," confirmed the Mayor of Grayditch. He had kept a close eye on the special representation from Tenpenny Tower. "The man has taken no whores. He's made no friends. I haven't even seen him write a word. He is an absolute dead end."

"And these figures for the combined cap wealth of Tenpenny Tower is accurate," the amount was astonishing to the Head Scribe. Even by concepts of monetary wealth from the west coast, Allistair Tenpenny would be considered the richest person on both coasts.

"My economic advisors," the term felt foreign in his mouth, but Fleet had men and women working on small parts of this larger project, "tell me that is an underestimation. Apparently Allister Tenpenny didn't originally land in the Potomac, though no one is saying where he first stepped of that floating log that carried him across the ocean."

"Interesting, though I'd highly doubt there is this much capital at his disposal," dismissed the Head Scribe.

"It's not the tower's wealth, it's all one man's, Allistair Tenpenny," rejoined Fleet as he held up his one finger, "there are very few places that can generate that many assets, let alone keep it in reserve."

"I can think of several," offered Jameson, the only viable option was Canterbury Commons in her mind. Paradise Falls would an option, though not one the Brotherhood of Steel could approve.

"This comes to why I wrote, Scribe Jameson," Fleet noted that Jameson hadn't said 'not Paradise Falls' but assumed that was how she felt, "which is the support of the Brotherhood of Steel."

"I thought Grayditch was an independent city," the comment came out harsher then Fleet expected. He held his tongue remembering that this woman had sacrificed a member of her organization for his city. "Mayor Fleet, what would be the plans for the inclusion of the Brotherhood of Steel?"

"Well, as the protectors and providers of Aqua Pura, you would be very important to our agreement," Henry affirmed as Elizabeth raised her hand.

"Mayor Fleet, we are an organization. We are not a settlement, nor do we look to be one or an independent city or a state," Jameson was referencing the State of Maxson in the NCR and how it inevitably lead to the NCR – Brotherhood of Steel Civil War.

"What do you have in mind, Elizabeth," asked Henry as he spun his glass in a circle.

"I believe the Elders would prefer us to remain in our current position of protecting those vital interests of the settlements." She knew the minds of both Rothchild and Lyons, and this was a conversation they needed to be privy to, "I of course will need to talk with my Elders, but this would be a document putting our current mission here in written words, versus the vocal commentary of Three Dog."

"So fighting the good fight," smiled Fleet at the naïve drabbles of the propaganda hound, "if you can agree on a language I'll make sure to present it well to all those involved."

"That doesn't solve the issues of these current talks," reminded Jameson.

"It will add new life to the talks," said Fleet.

"There is something else at play," voiced Jameson as she looked over Fleet's shoulder, "Burke will want to kill the talks completely."

"So what are you saying I should do to keep these talks going," a perplexed look on his face as he knew he couldn't stop Burke's plan.

"Kill the talks on your own terms," suggested Elizabeth with a shrug, "for some waffling reason, but mainly do it to take the power away from Tenpenny Tower. Rally the others to exert pressure on Burke and the Talks will start again. Or you can find a settlement to replace them and exclude Tenpenny from future talks."

Operative Colin Moriarty Junior entered his biological father's apartment office above his saloon. He and Zimm still operated out of Silver's Den, much to the ire of his father. Silver had taken a protection deal with Ashkelon for help outside of the whore house. The raider prison warden had successfully taken control or exerted influence on the major businesses of Springvale. J.R. and Zimm played both Moriarty Senior and Ashkelon against each other by funneling useless information. The whores in Silver's employ were good at collecting information from their clients. The Brotherhood of Steel Operatives paid for this information by protecting the girls inside the whore house.

Moriarty Senior called a meeting with his son to find out more information, or so J.R. thought. His father sat at his desk and tossed a piece of paper. JR, without a word, picked up the paper to see the short note scratched on to the course paper.

Five Settlement Talks have hit a large snag. Mister Burke has refused to come back to the talks. When asked approached him with your note, he walked away without a word. Advise on how to continue, please do not harm Maggie.

Billy

"What are these five settlement talks?" These were the first words out of JR's mouth as he continued to go over the letter in his head as he handed it back to his father.

"We, Megaton, are in talks with four other settlements on concerns for trade," informed Moriarty Senior as if nothing had been occurring. He turned his son's attention back to the letter, "but there is a major issue with Mister Burke. I need you to go to Tenpenny Tower and talk with the old man."

"Are you asking me as your son or ordering me as your employee," JR's tone was stone cold, knowing it didn't matter either way: he would go.

"Both, what's good for Megaton and me is good for you, as well, lad." Moriarty's answer was delivered with patience. "Find out why this is happening, lad, put Tenpenny to the bricks. I'm sending you as my representative, which will give you some protection, though not much. It will allow you through the front gate, but if you cause trouble at the Tower, anything can happen. Be careful, lad."

JR was taken aback by his father's warning but understood the risks. He left the office and returned to Silver's Den. Zimm was sitting at the table and watching the crowd, paper for notes in front of him as well as a glass of whiskey. JR rapt his knuckles on the table getting the attention of his partner in the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services.

"I'll be taking a trip out to Tenpenny Tower," informed the Operative to his partner.

"Do you need back up," Zimm knew that Tenpenny and Burke were persons' of interest for BIOS. Being able to get eyes on them in their home settlement would be major.

"Solo mission, stay here and protect the girls," confirmed JR as he looked around the whore house. "Any news?"

"A few," confessed Zachary as he turned over a scrawled piece of paper, "that kid was looking for you, again."

JR raised an eyebrow and continued to look around the whore house as if expecting a fight to break out or members of the Enclave to storm in, "Susie's cousin," he asked and Zachary nodded. JR sighed and shook his head. "How is your investigation into Ultrajet?"

"There has been some talk around the watering hole," confirmed Zimm in reference to the Ghoul restaurant owned by Wint. "Have not pinned down the supplier or creator, but it has started to pop up in Springvale."

"Leo's been sniffing around town," JR knew the man would get himself in trouble, sooner rather than later.

"Not as much as his supplier, Susa," answered Zimm, "the man is like a mad brahmin."

"Raiders are not ones for secrecy," agreed JR as he turned to go to his room, "If I'm not back in a month…you know what to do."

"Yea, I know what to do," was all Zimm replied in a nod.

The waves of the Chesapeake Bay made the Majesty rock and sway. Operative Daniel Roe had not gained his sea legs yet as he stumbled above deck. Da'an, Zhao, and Bin seemed the most comfortable of the ghouls with traveling by boat. Franklin and Tamara had similar lack of equilibrium to Roe, but no one had it as worse than Rook. He was hunched over the railing on the starboard side as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the bay. The other sailors were laughing and making jokes about the former NFL linebacker.

The main sail was full of wind and they were only half way through their fortnight sojourn. The ghouls were being used for scrubbing the deck and managing the rigging, following orders from the sailors and the first mate. Tarek ibn Khalid had been very helpful. Roe and his team were learning a lot about sailing. Khalid and Greene, with their combined knowledge, knew more about the waterways of the Chesapeake than anyone in the Brotherhood of Steel. Travel plans were simple as resupply at Point Lookout was common to all mariners these days.

From Point Lookout, where they planned to have a week shore leave to collect items and stretch their legs, they would cut across the Bay and ride the coast. Waterways around Norfolk had been out of bounds for over a generation, the Brotherhood of Steel projected it was from when the Enclave had relocated to the east coast from the west. Fishermen and sailors from the Eastern Shore called the place Neptune's Fork for a twofold reason; one being that all ships that crossed into those waters were destroyed or lost. The second reason because it was a bastardized version of Norfolk having grown from the pidgin title "n'fork".

Roe's mission would take them into the heart of Neptune's Fork, an opportunity he was told an old sea dog wouldn't turn down. Captain Greene talked about the adventure and treasure as if it were a tale of old already. Greene was old enough to remember the communities that existed behind the Fork and how their markets must have been closed all this time. Spices from the Eastern Shore, punga fruits from Point Lookout, and technology from the Capital would be how the old sea dog made his money. Captain Greene admitted his plan to open all those markets, by force or stealth if need be, and never return to selling pre-war knick knacks.

The upcoming journey to Neptune's Fork was shared in private conversations between Operative Daniel Roe, Captain Greene, and the first mate Tarek ibn Khalid. The talk amongst the sailors and Roe's ghouls were more to tall tales from the sea. In the galley of the Majesty, six people could share a meal at one time. Sailors and mercenaries would eat in shifts and work the rigging so that the galley was not over crowded. Captain Greene was topside as Tarek ibn Khalid, Franklin, bin and two other sailors were in the galley with Daniel Roe.

"An' then Cap'n Greene rammed the side of these Eastern Shore bastards," one of the sailors recounted a heroic action against piracy by the old sea dog. His words against the Eastern Shore didn't hurt Tarek ibn Khalid despite Roe knowing the man originated from that region. Wine was in the glass of the sailor as he sloshed it on the table and himself, "we boarded them quickly, stole their cargo and left them without any way to make caps. An' guess what their cargo was, cumin and thyme! All that for a few hundred pounds of spices."

"Good Ol' Cap'n Greene," remarked the other sailor, "givers everything our all, no mattah the gain."

"Have you heard much of the place we plan to travel to," asked Roe, his question directed to Tarek.

"No, no one has traveled there and lived for the last twenty years," responded the first mate as he ripped a piece of bird apart and ate its cooked sinew. Sailor diets were more varied than that of common wastelanders because they ate preserved foods and what was caught on the Bay. In this particular case, a bird had flown into the sails and now resided in Tarek ibn Khalid's stomach. "I heard stories of large clans and towns there, but that was all from before my time. Since then, sea monsters haunt the waters. It is only a narrow straight that the Atlantic coast of the Eastern Shore can sail around the Kipto Cape into the Bay."

"What are these rumors," probed Franklin as he sipped at his own drink. The black face cloth gone as most of the crew knew they were ghouls. Even Bin was not wearing his face mask.

"Neptune's Fork used to be a safe area to sail before the black demons arrived," informed Tarek as the other sailors nodded away. "They say the black demons take you to hell in green fire."

"Aye, that they do," agreed the sailor from the original tale. He had a bald skullcap with a scraggily mullet of thin oily hair, "seen it with me own two eyeballs I tell yah. Me an' my ol' crew were out at Front Cove when those metal birds flew in with the black demons. Whole of the town went up with green flames! We made it to the ship and out of the cove just as the sea monster came in. It was a Leviathan, the largest beast I've ever seen! Even larger than a madracore!"

"You've seen a madracore," the other sailor dismissed the tale by his fellow sailor and leaned forward against the table. "Coxie tends to make up stories."

"Shut yeh lying gob, Piltz," Coxie pushed the sailor claiming him to be exaggerating. He huffed and leaned back in his chair. "I too have seen a madracore! It's what ended the crew on the Rustbucket. Damn thing broke through the hull and killed nearly thirty men! I, being the smart one, abandoned ship with a few other mates. Had to cling onto the wreckage and float for nearly three days until the Al-Rash picked up me and those mates left alive from the Rustbucket."

"Good sailors on the Al-Rash," commented Tarek as he nodded to Coxie, "but Neptune's Fork holds more dangers than the black deomons, green flames of hell, and madracores. The monsters there are known to sink all ships, even those civilian vessels too."

"These black demons, what do they look like," enquired Roe. The talk of green flames reminded him of plasma based weapons. The large flying birds were clearly vertibirds. The Enclave was not seen in the Capital Wasteland until the war with the Brotherhood of Steel and their invasion of Project Purity. Their appearance at Norfolk, or Neptune's Fork as the locals called it, would have been a reality jarring experience. It was no wonder that locals explained away the happenings as colloquially as they do, thought the Brotherhood of Steel Operative.

"They tower at nine feet tall, their bodies covered in large black scales harder than the rocks of Saxis," claimed Coxie as Piltz groaned at the seaman's embellishment. "They talk to each other through their minds and when they talk to mere mortals their voice is booming and cold; it chills you to your every bones."

Bin said something in mandarin and Franklin translated, "what my fair weathered friend was saying is that he was surprised you could be able to watch these black demons when sailing away."

Piltz burst out laughing and slapped the table, "for a ghoul, you sure as shit are funny!"

Coxie told Piltz and Bin to stuff it. Tarek laughed and enjoyed his bird. There was an uncomfortable feeling as they all knew Neptune's Fork was dangerous to them because it was unknown. On maps made by cartographers of the Eastern Shore the area was hazy and read: Here be monsters. Daniel Roe leaned over to whisper in the remains of Franklin's ear.

"Does that sound like the Enclave to you," his question rhetorical as they both knew it was a true statement and Franklin grunted.

The Community of Dickerson, if one could call it that, was made out of a dilapidated chapel. The remains of several shacks could be seen around the chapel as Operative Juan Alvarado and Regulators Brittany Ward and Oscar approached main building. The shacks had been destroyed recently, probably in the super mutant attack against Sentinel Julian Tristan's Centurions. Burnt earth still remained, little recovery had occurred since the super mutant attack. Dickerson, as a community, was still hurting.

The Regulators walked slowly up to the chapel, there were only a few people outside helping to close up some holes in the chapel. One wastelander even swept the entrance way. Out of the bell tower there was a whistle and those outside rushed into the relative safety of the chapel. Brit walked forward with her hands in the air and her palms facing out. Oscar mimicked her motions while Juan tried to, but could only do so with one hand. Sitting on the ledge of the chapel window with one leg out and pressed to the belfry wall was a black man in green combat armor. He had a sniper rifle and what looked like a hood made out of an olive burlap sack.

Brit looked up to the man, she could see the unhealed sores on his as a mark of malnutrition, "we've been told you need help, we're Regulators."

"Hope you don't mind if I don't take you at your word," replied the man in the belfry, "specially that one with only one hand up."

"Don't mind him, simply a crippled porter," countered Brit as Juan scowled, "you can tell us the issue this way or you can let us help properly. We just want to help."

"Regulators don't work for free," said the man as he spat out from his spot in the belfry and the spit landed a few feet from Ward, "we ain't got much caps, 'ere."

"Regulator Leader Cruz has footed the costs upon a signed bill of services from the community of Dickerson," assuaged Brit as she blew out some of her platinum blonde hair from her face, "mind if me and my people put our hands down, they're getting tired."

The protector in the belfry nodded before whistling three times in quick succession. Two men in green rags came out and asked for their weapons. Brit and Oscar grudgingly handed them over to these men. Alvarado was only too happy to hand over the pack and weapon. Unfortunately, the men only wanted the weapons and Juan was forced to carry the supply pack yet again. They were escorted into the chapel to see several people living together in a small space that still had a completely open roof.

Several mothers hushed their children and moved them into a sectioned off part that gave some protection to the elements. The man from the belfry slid down a ladder and approached the three Regulators. He offered them no hand to shake, clearly distrusting them still. Brittany Ward and Oscar did not take offense to this sign of disrespect. Alvarado curiously wondered on their nonjudgmental attitude.

"While in the main chapel you can't carry weapons," he explained as he collected the arms in a tied blanket from the two men in rags, "what else are you looking for, Regulators?"

"Tell us more about what happened," said Oscar as his eyes kept searching the building. He didn't mention the disappearances but knew that was the recent tragedy to befall this community.

"Several of our people were taken late one night," explained the hooded malnourished man.

"How do you know they didn't just up and leave," inquired Brit, the tone of her voice was more probing than accusatory.

"The Picards and the Flemming family had shacks set up around the temples," informed the hooded sniper from the belfry as he brushed a sore on his face, smearing the puss on his cheek. "Check their shacks, or what remains of them. Most people in our community tell why or when they leave. The Picards and the Flemmings didn't, so it's a bit suspicious. Several of the families around know them better, feel free to ask them."

"We'll question them in a bit, but just a few more questions if you'd please," Brit's request held the weight of an order that could only be construed poorly if denied. "What dangers are here? We've heard word of super mutants and slavers."

"There were super mutants, but the Brotherhood pushed them back down south. For a bit anyways," the mention of the Brotherhood of Steel put a glower on the sniper's face. "Slavers still comb these parts, in fact most think they're to blame on the disappearance of the Picards and Flemmings. We've had some trouble back when with feral ghouls, and the occasional wasteland critter."

"Any more Brotherhood activity in the area," Juan raised an eyebrow to Brit's question.

"Which one," the question seemed loaded to Brit, Juan, and Oscar based on the sniper's tone.

"Tell me the difference," Brit wanted the information, though Juan suspected the material would not show his past organization in good light.

"Well, the red devils pass by often but we don't pay them no mind and they pay us no attention at all," the sniper rubbed his neck though the hood and the Regulators knew he was opening sores. "Then there are those Centurions camped out in the north. Their leader, called Tristan, has taken to wearing a yao guai fur clasped around his shoulders. Fucking bastard claims it as an honor for defending the north. We lost ten people and fifty have gone missing in the defense of our community from the mutties. Tristan calls it a success, but does this look like a fucking a success to you?"

"No, it doesn't. How many other families remain," Brit's question was more on the community's vulnerability and viability. Word of Sentinel Tristan's Centurions tactics had reached the Citadel, but most Brotherhood of Steel members knew the terrain in the north to be completely untamed or civilized. As long as it was far removed from the Citadel, the Brotherhood would pay him and the Centurions no mind. Operative Juan Alvarado was the first member of the Brotherhood of Steel, besides the Centurions, to see the destruction in the wake of Sentinel Julian Tristan's pragmatic military doctrine.

"Only fifteen are left another twenty-five people left after the Brotherhood's defense," the watchman of Dickerson talked as if everyone in the community were dying a slow death.

"We'll get the Picards and Flemmings back," she checked herself on her promise, "or find out what happened to them."

"Feel free to ask around," the sniper nodded, "your weapons will be with me until you decide to leave."

Brit turned to Juan, "now you have the most important task for us, Froshie. Guard the supplies and make certain no one steal them. Can you handle that?"

Alvarado grumbled and agreed. Brittany Ward and Oscar walked amongst the settlers of Dickerson as Juan squatted against one of the remaining walls with the pack on his back. The sniper kept an eye on him as the time passed. Breaking the silence, as the Regulators were still away, the sniper of Dickerson decided to make small talk.

"What's it like being a Regulator," he asked, spitting on the ground again.

"Wouldn't know, I'm only a probationary member," Alvarado offered, not looking at the man.

"Who were you with before them," the small talk annoyed Juan.

The young Hispanic nineteen year old Operative flashed his best smile as he said, "the Brotherhood of Steel." The sniper turned away because of the awkward moment that had descended on their small talk. Brit and Oscar returned after nearly an hour of uncomfortable stillness between Juan and the sniper. The Regulators looked as the sniper and then to Juan, questioning this unusual tension.

"Froshie, we're going to check out the shacks now," Oscar's words meant Juan was to join them and he was to get off his ass. The black Regulator turned to the sniper of Dickerson, "we'll be back as soon as we can."

The Regulators, including Operative Alvarado, left the chapel after retaining their weapons to visit the destroyed shacks outside. Brittany and Oscar found some dried blood and fragments of clothing, but little else. Weather had eliminated the majority of any evidence. Juan could see that Brit was thinking along with Oscar as they walked the ruins. She turned to both of them.

"We'll head to Roosevelt Academy first," she stated and chewed the inside of her cheek, "there is little left behind, but what is here gives me a gut feeling that super mutants are involved."

Juan looked to Oscar, who nodded along with Brit's sentiment. "What if it's not super mutants," asked Alvarado as he saw no evidence pointing to the super mutant threat. Surely, had the creatures taken the Picards and Flemmings, than the residents of Dickerson would have heard them moving about. "It could be slavers, raiders, or god knows what!"

"Listen, Froshie, if you want to be a Regulator some time this decade you'll need to learn," educated Oscar with a glare that would have frozen a charging yao guai in its tracks. "Instinct is very important for us. We follow Brit's intuition right now. If the mutties don't had these people we'll go onto the usual suspects. You are here to observe and learn, stop arguing with us and maybe you will learn something."

The National Security Agency stood as a mausoleum to the old United States of America. Its keeper was a man inflicted by a disease that increased his longevity while claiming all that made him physically human. Two men from a new order that rose out of nuclear hellfire and turbulent sands of the wasteland had been his companions for more than two weeks. Operative Quintus Schieber and Knight Jamie Bors only had a taste of what Fredrick Niche's last two hundred years had been. This taste was not a good one in their mouths and they knew now they did not belong there, at the old NSA headquarters.

The two Brotherhood of Steel members sat Niche down in the main terminal room they had first met in face – to – face. It was here they were going to talk about their plans. Schieber and Bors had been conspiring together on their next course of action as death did not seem to be definitely in their future as it had been when they first crashed. Fredrick straightened his bowtie as he looked upon the two men in T45d power armor, an antiquated form of the US Armed Forces personal armor. The last two weeks had crushed many of the realities he had come to think to be true.

"We want to thank you for your hospitality Fredrick, we really appreciate it," the Operative born in Drayden said before he paused briefly, "but we need to get back to the Citadel and the Brotherhood of Steel."

Niche nodded in agreement as Bors looked over to the ghoul and the ancient terminals, "Fredrick, we have a robot in the entrance hall that has been on a holding position for these last two weeks. It has the ability to boost a radio signal on a transmitter or tower and signal our home base. We don't know if it will work with the systems you have down here, but will you allow us to use everything you have here so we can contact home."

"I…I can't agree to that without seeing the machine first, or knowing how it will connect to the system. It took me more than fifty years to learn all the systems here, and even then some weren't on or working! Besides, a fair amount of our systems are wired underground," Niche knew he shouldn't allow it. Even if several of the systems weren't working, the saved information on them could be rescued or reconstituted. But what is the point of protecting all the NSA had to offer if the United States didn't exist, thought the ghoul.

"Another idea we've been tossing around is that you might want to join our group," Bors put the idea out there, pushing his own dislike for ghouls down to the bottom of his heart. Schieber and Bors had discussed the issue and thought the old cryptologist would be an amazing addition to the Brotherhood Intelligence Operative Services. Niche smiled faintly before frowning and becoming nervous. The ghoul's voice sounded as if he was gargling gravel.

"I'll have to think about it," Fredrick held in his thoughts, his old age letting him know the importance of not speaking your mind.

However, Quin Schieber still suffered from youthful impatience and quick decision making. "This will be a great opportunity, Fred," his thoughts sound in his mind as he ignored Bors' quieting looks, "you have so much to teach us from the past, you know this facility better than anyone alive, and now you can have a life outside of this cold underground complex."

"Is that what this is all about," Niche's two index fingers moved back and forth between the power armored men and himself. The ghoul raised an eyebrow, or more accurately the thin wisps of hair that remained of his eyebrows. Ne began to stand up, his limbs shaking in unpronounced anger and frustration that Bors could read in his dull eyes.

"Fredrick, don't you want to see the sun again," asked the Knight in a calming voice as he held his hands out with his palms facing to the ghoul. "This place has been a large burden on your shoulders. We want to help with that burden, to lessen that load."

"Why should I believe you," asked the ghoul as he was caught between sitting and standing, his legs bent slightly.

"Fredrick, we haven't lied to you once this whole time we've been here," said Bors as he sat down against a desk, "the truth is that I dislike ghouls, just the way I've been raised, but you are the first once I've ever spent some time with and I've come to respect you."

"I wouldn't name myself as a good representation of this ghoul community you have informed me of these last few days. I've been sheltered here," admitted Niche as he sat down in the chair again, his knees shaking. "Let's…let's see if we can get you home, Jamie, Quin."

"You'll be able to go home too, Freddie," said Schieber as he snapped on his helmet, ready to go up the elevator to get Trip.

"I …I haven't been home in…." Niche began to have a flashback to the historic apartment he and his wife, Estelle, owned in Baltimore. "It's been a long time, I doubt it is even there, anymore," but who knows, the Lord has worked in many mysterious ways, he thought.

Scribe Janice Yearling hardly ever went into the field herself. Her job was to handle logistics and create plans for the Operatives and Brotherhood of Steel. It was not her job to go into the field and work as an operative. Thus, she found herself standing in the offices of Doctor Gordon Hopikns in Grayditch as uncomfortable. She stood watching the doctor put files on a shelf and took other folders down. Yearling's robes swayed as she kept her feet together, standing still.

"Yes, okay, how may I help you, Scribe… I'm sorry, have we met before," asked Hopkins as he brushed his palms down the front of his white lab coat.

"Scribe will do just fine, Doctor Hopkins," answered Yearling with a false smile she thought was a good enough lie. She had made certain to close the door behind her as she came in and not reveal too much information about herself. "Actually, I have a few questions to ask…."

"Ah, yes, about your Elder, no doubt?" Hopkins steamed ahead as he searched for a file as Yearling placed a hand on his shoulder. "You aren't here about that, are you?"

"No, I am not here to find out more about Elder Lyons." Yearling waved her free palm to the open chair in front of the desk as an invitation to sit down. She brushed her sandy blond hair behind her right ear and crossed her right leg over her left thigh after she sat down in a different chair. Janice waited a little while in silence as the doctor sat down. "I am here, Doctor Hopkins, to talk with you and you may have already guessed why."

"No, I do not," lied Gordon, only a few people in the Brotherhood of Steel knew he was ex-Enclave. For this scribe to know his former affiliation one person must have loose lips or she was more senior in the Brotherhood than she let on to be.

"Gordon, can I call you Gordon," Janice did not wait for Hopkins' approval and plowed ahead. "Gordon, I wanted to detain you and all your former Enclave buddies living in the Capital Wasteland. How is it you could live amongst the people you terrorized for so long? I've always wondered how that would feel, to mix in with the people you thought were lowly, mutated, trash. However, Lyons has a soft spot for you and the doctor in the Vault hundred and one, so he won't allow me to take you both in. Consider this as me at my most civil, Gordon.

"Now that has been established, I have a few questions for you," Yearling had a cocky smile on her face. She had noted her words had made the doctor uncomfortable. "You can choose not to answer them…but really, do we want to go down that road, Gordon. I don't think so because, frankly, you are a good doctor and the wasteland needs good doctors. Now, I wouldn't lie to me either because after you and I talk, I have plans for someone to question your former colleague in Vault hundred and one. And again, we need good doctors in the wasteland."

"You threaten me and expect me to cooperate," Doctor Hopkins huffed in indignation.

"I do not threaten, Gordon, I make promises I can keep." Janice's lazy look added more to her intended look of intimidation than she could gage. "I want to know about the Enclave in the Capital Wasteland."

"You already know about the Enclave in the Capitol Region," his language influenced by the secret American organization. Gordon Hopkins' eyes looked up and to the left before returning to Yearling's gaze. He gulped audibly, "the Lone Wanderer destroyed the Raven Rock facility and the Brotherhood of Steel took over Adams Air Force Base. That pretty much was the death knell for the Enclave."

"Do you keep contact with any members of the Enclave," Janice knew he would have to work Hopkins into her answers. The man was not a pushover by nature.

"You know I do," said Hopkins as he referred to Doctor Peter Williams Cushing, "what kind of question is that?"

"You tell me, Gordon, you said the Enclave was 'pretty much' out of the Capital Wasteland. That doesn't mean the entire Enclave," Yearling knew she was discussing semantics, but it could be used as a wedge into his strong defenses. "Now you tell me you have contacts with 'active' Enclave agents. Is this to mean that Cushing is still a member of the Enclave or that there is a secret fifth column somewhere in the wasteland?"

"Fifth column? Active Enclave agents? Honestly, Scribe, I am just a doctor, not a soldier or an ideologue. I just mend broken people," Hopkins was clearly nervous.

"Several of our scouts found research posts left by the Enclave. Abandoned, of course, but you don't need me to tell you what went on out there, do you?" The ashen face of Doctor Gordon Hopkins answered the Scribe's question. A smug look on her face flickered into existence but Yearling suppressed it quickly. She leaned back more into the chair, "as lead surgeon, I bet you knew exactly what your group was doing. Now let's try some truth, Gordon."

"What do you want me to tell you," Gordon had the face of a broken man. He knew the atrocities his colleague and organization had committed were brutal. Gordon Hopkins had participated in the atrocities as well, trying hard to reconcile the work at the time as a different species from a common un-irradiated ancestor. The more he worked the more he saw the difference was cultural and not scientific, plainly speaking no difference existed. Cognitive dissonance didn't work for this particular Enclave Doctor.

"I want the truth, Gordon, on all my questions," Scribe Janice Yearling could smell the stench of defeat on Doctor Gordon Hopkins. "Now, are you an active Enclave agent?"

"No," answered Hopkins firmly.

"Do you know and communicate with active Enclave agents in the Capital Wasteland," Janice stared into his eyes.

"Yes," replied Hopkins as he thought, regrettably.

"Will you be willing to share those names and locations to me," Janice was intrigued, her best guess on Enclave fragments remaining behind seemed true.

"It is up to them to come forward, I will not betray any former colleagues," if I can agree with his action, thought Janice as she listened to his words and appraised the Enclave Doctor, I can respect his integrity.

"Do you have family in Norfolk, in the former state of Virginia?" Yearling knew the question was loaded, but Hopkins' answer would provide some clue as to what awaited the Brotherhood of Steel coming from the south.

"The reason I am here is because I have no family," the pain in Hopkins' eyes was throbbing at the base of the orbs, "and I am the last of my family line."

"So why spend it amongst the people you tormented and not those of your own group in Norfolk," any answer would confirm that the Enclave did hold Norfolk.

"Redemption," there was a laugh in his voice. Hopkins was cynical as if knew he could never be awarded what he truly wished.

"Tell me about Norfolk," asked Yearling as she licked her dry lips.

"I think I've said all I wanted to say, Scribe," Hopkins did not like these mind games. There is little else she could hold against me, thought the Enclave doctor as he crossed his arms to his chest.

"You will tell me or the Brotherhood will look into relocating you, Gordon," her smile was sick and she no longer hid her smug attitude, "and after the town of Grayditch finds out about your past, I doubt you'd want to remain here."