Trials of Diplomacy
Chapter 11: Integrity for Auction
The conference room was full of members of the Brotherhood of Steel. The A – Ring conference room had a person in every chair. J.R. Zimm had been recalled to the Citadel. Newton and Ban were sitting in on the Tribunal as well, their closeness to the Citadel allowed them the ability to attend. Yearling and Bael were present, so to were Schieber and Bors. Elder Rothchild and several scribes finished the room that seem liked more of an inquisition hall.
The Brotherhood of Steel called such legal action a tribunal. Tribunal's occurred when members of the order acted against the interests of the Brotherhood, and was presided over by several Elders. Tribunals were not announced or occurred at the say of Elders, whose word on the matter was final. The current tribunal was called by Elder Rothchild because of reports on assistance given to slavers in the attack of the Republic by Operative Daniel Roe.
"This report was brought to my attention by Operatives Quintus Schieber and Knight Jamie Bors," opened Reginald Rothchild, "the seriousness of these claims would be to the prolonging of the atrocious trade of human life and a number of deaths of non-combatants outside the field of battle. These actions are against the values of the Brotherhood of Steel as written in the Codex. Do you deny these charges?"
"No, I have acted in such a way to cause shame to myself and the Brotherhood of Steel," stated Daniel Roe in solemnly.
"Star Paladin Cristano Bael, as the operational lead of BIOS, did you sanction any operation that Operative Roe took direct part in," Rothchild asked as he held his fingers together.
"No acting Elder Rothchild, Operative Roe acted on his own accord," replied Bael with a frown.
Rothchild nodded as he turned to the logistics manager, "Scribe Janice Yearling, has Operative Roe advanced the progress of BIOS and the Brotherhood of Steel?"
"It is plausible that he has," answered Yearling as she looked to Roe, "while his actions were odious and detestable, Operative Roe opened a connection to Paradise Falls that can allow us the ability for internal reconnaissance and subterfuge."
"Operative Quintus Schieber, you wrote in your report that you had direct radio contact with Operative Daniel Roe, what was discussed," Rothchild looked to Quin as the Scribes wrote notes furiously.
"As stated in my report, Dan said that Star Paladin Bael had sanctioned the operations," replied Schieber with an emotionless face, "I did not find this likely and sought the opinion of Knight Bors, my handler for our operation."
"Knight Jamie Bors, can you describe the effect of the attack and Roe's placement in it," Rothchild noted his own file.
"The attack was separated on two fronts, one against the main compound and one against the secondary work area. Roe assisted in the attack of the main compound that pinned any response to the attack on the secondary objective," Bors licked his lips and whiskers, "my judgment to believe Operative Schieber is based on my thirty year personal relationship with Star Paladin Bael. His hatred for slavers is second only to the Enclave."
"Operatives Zachary Zimm and Colin Moriarty Junior, you have been stationed with Operative Daniel Roe the longest," the two operatives squirmed under his gaze, "what reason would Roe have to work with slavers?"
J.R. held his tongue, Zimm decided to raise the issue he brought to the attention of Bael before, "Operative Roe has a small gambling addiction that has left him indebted to the local casino near Megaton."
J.R. hissed at Zimm in disapproval, "and what are your thoughts Mister Moriarty," asked the Elder of the Capital Wasteland.
"Respectfully, acting Elder Rothchild, Daniel Roe is an outstanding Operative that has saved my life multiple times along with most members of BIOS," commented J.R., "while he may have a gambling problem, it is a medical issue…not a social one. We can't afford to lose such a man, and as Scribe Yearling said, he has presented a prime opportunity to gain intelligence on Paradise Falls."
"Operative Hannah Newton, do you wish to attest to Operative Roe's character," asked the acting Elder.
"I concur with J.R.," said Newton curtly.
"And Knight Michael Ban, do you wish to comment," Elder Rothchild sighed, his tired eyes rolled to look at Ban.
"I withhold any comment," Ban held his tongue from speaking ill or praising Operative Daniel Roe.
Rothchild looked at his files before he turned to Daniel Roe, "as acting Elder of this order while Elder Owyn Lyons recovers from surgery, you acknowledge your guilt honor and respect. You have broken ways with the Codex, the most sacred rules we govern ourselves by day – to – day and since the reign of the first Maxson. You have lied to fellow members of the Brotherhood of Steel; you endangered the lives of non-combatants, and helped prolong the institution of slavery. On the positive side of your action, you have opened a way to infiltrate the den of human enslavement known as Paradise Falls and acted with utmost honor.
"By order of this tribunal, Operative Daniel Roe is hereby ordered never to return to the area of Springvale and Megaton. All gambling debts are to be paid in full from the Brotherhood of Steel treasury; a receipt shall be collected by Star Paladin Bael and a repayment plan established at the full burden of Operative Roe. At sun down, Operative Roe will be whipped fifty times on his bare back by the operational leader of BIOS, Star Paladin Cristano Bael. This tribunal is dismissed."
Daniel Roe held his head down as several people, who he could only guess as he was lost in his own thoughts of shame, what have I done.
"I'm sorry, Dan, I had to do what I felt was right," said Schieber but Roe gave no response so he and Bors went down into the labs to report on Trip to Scribe Vallincourt.
Hannah Newton and Michael Ban had a prolonged date to apologize to the delegations of Providence Plantations. They simply gave supportive squeezes to his shoulders as they passed. Yearling spent no time with showing emotional attachment, her Operative had acted on his own will and that was not something she wanted the other Operatives to follow. J.R. and Zimm stood near Roe, talking with him but their words fell on deaf ears.
Cristano Bael walked over to Roe, "private quarters now, operative."
J.R. and Zimm tried to go with Dan but Bael forbade it; they knew Bael was going to tongue lash the young man. Dan didn't look up, he cast his eyes downward still. Bael held both hands to his shoulders and tapped his right arm with a heavy pat. They made it to private quarters and Cristano Bael began to smile.
"You did well, Roe," Bael let his lips part to show his teeth as he smiled more, Dan looking into his eyes, "sloppy end, but consider yourself lucky you caught by your own side. Slavers would have just wasted you. Tell me about the team?"
"Well trained ghouls, renting them was cheap compared to Talon prices," answered Roe as he shook off his shame for a private debriefing, "Mister Crowley didn't press the prices high. All six have twenty year contracts with the ghoul. It is possible to buy the contracts for a small fortune, which is a one time payment that would ensure them them for the duration of their contracts. The ghouls worked well together, all six have experience with combat, tactics, and survival. Most likely gained over their increased life span."
"These candidates seem like a fair choice for an operations team that can not be connected to the Brotherhood of Steel," nodded Bael as he made a mental note for later, "I will be the one to present payments for your debts to Mister Crowley, now we both know there aren't really any outstanding debts. The caps will be used to purchase these contracts."
Roe's face turned a little gaunt as he thought back to the recent findings of the tribunal, "what will happen with the lashes," his life had been cautious, avoiding injury with very few blemishes.
Bael's smile turned cheap, "Rothchild is using you to secure his position as Elder for the inevitable return of Lyons. I, on the other hand, am going to use your sentence because you decided to drop my name. I can't have that, I've worked too hard to build up my position in the Brotherhood. As you can see, with history comes loyalty; and you Operative need to showcase more loyalty. Think of this as punishment for trying to turn on your commanding leader."
In the post operation recovery room of Vault 101, Doctor Peter Williams Cushing was checking Doctor Weston Lesko. The standard check for pupil response was adequate, so to were reflexes and simple memorization. There was still a little bit of a hazy situation with recalling the events of the attack. After the plasma pinch from Scribe Georgina Mendel's side arm went off, the geneticist could remember only fragments of details like being chased and the taste of blood.
"Doctor Lesko, were you this irritable before the head trauma," asked Cushing as he popped two aspirin, "the Scribes have reported that you verbally abuse them to no end."
"If the idiots can't tell the difference between a five – eighths needle and a rabbis needle, they ought to be told off," Lesko's snide voice hurt Cushing's ears and brain.
"Well I suggest you change your mood as one or two of these Scribes will be a live-in assistant monitoring your care," deadpanned Cushing, "and you're almost ready to leave."
"I'll be more than adequate on my own," assured Lesko as he attempted to swing his legs over the bed but found it hard to put pressure on them.
Doctor Cushing pushed Lesko back onto the vault – tec bed with on hand, "you haven't used your legs for a while, I'm going to authorized the use of a vault – tec wheelchair."
Lesko leaned back against his pillows with a deep sign, "just as long as they don't hinder my research."
"I've discussed with Scribe Mendel your work situation," Cushing licked his lips, "this remote system you have set up seems adequate enough for you to use without having to step in the damp sewers."
"That clumsy bucket of bolts is more antiquated and idiotic than the Scribes," lamented Lesko as he yawned and closed his eyes.
Cushing patted the geneticist's knee and walked of to Georgina Mendel, "I slipped him a small dose of med – x with my pen injector. Just remind him he agreed to everything, from the wheelchair to the Scribes."
"You're a crafty man, Doctor Cushing," Mendel said as Lesko began to snore through his nose.
"I'm doing a service to mankind and my own senses," commented Peter blandly.
"The scribes have given me an earful on his treatment of them. I must admit his attitude is the same as before though his fuse seems shorter, "she said as she rubbed a moisturizer into the Elder's frail skin.
"Well, isn't it obvious?" Cushing smiled as he flashed a light in the Elder's eyes, "the crazy scientist is jealous of all the attention you dot on Owyn Lyons."
"Nonsense, Lesko and I have been nothing but scientific and intellectual colleagues," replied Mendel as a rebuff.
Cushing tilted his head , a knowing look in this eyes. Elder Lyons coughed and gurgled. Scribe Mendel wiped the spittle away from his mouth. Under his eyes, the circles of his iris and pupils danced around in a detailed movement of life similar to REM sleep. Peter held his palm to Lyons' chest as the elderly man began to rock in bed from side to side. Mendel leaned back as Lyons eyes flashed open with fear and confusion. He blinked furiously, his eyes adjusting to the ceiling lights of the post operation room.
Gasping like a fish out of water, his vocal cords unused for a long time. His eyes were wide and the pupils were contracted to pin points. Lyons tried to sit up but Cushing held him down. Owyn's eyes meet his doctor's and muttered something with and unheard voice. Peter held him down with all this strength, the old man was aged by the wasteland and trained in the best military power the former United States of America had presently.
"Elder Lyons, you had a medical emergency," stated Doctor Peter Williams Cushing, "you haven't used your voice for over a month now. Blink twice if you understand me."
After a moment, the Elder held his gaze to Cuishing's eyes and blinked twice.
"Are you in any pain," the doctor checked his bandages and looked the Elder in his eyes, Lyons blinked twice, "is it your head that hurts?"
Mendel scoffed at the obvious question, Cushing just glanced at her to shut her up as he saw Owyn Lyons blinked twice, "is it a jabbing pain?"
Lyons held his gaze for a long and blinked once involuntarily, no, good, very good, thought Cushing, "is it a throbbing pain?"
Elder Owyn Lyons blinked twice, surgical pain, okay, that can be helped with. Simple pain meds, thought Cushing, "listen carefully to what I am to tell you, Elder Lyons. You collapsed on October Seventeenth, the year is still Two Thousand Two Hundred and Seventy – Nine. The current date is December Third; you have been in a semi – conscious state for several days, before that you were in a medicated coma. The reason for your fainting and coma were due to a blood clot."
The Elder paid rapt attention to the doctors words, "a wound on your thigh developed a clot that dislodged and traveled up to your brain. The clot blocked blood flow and caused a small portion of your brain to die off. I have removed the necrotic tissue which explains the pain in your head."
Lyons shifted and fought against Cushing's hand, "calm down Elder Lyons', you're through the hard part, now everything is recovery and observation. Mendel has been your personal assistant throughout the surgery and treatment here. She has offered to assist in your recovery as well, if you allow it."
Lyons' shifted to the side and looked to Mendel's eyes and only blinked involuntarily to moisten his ocular orbs, "I suggest you rest up Elder Lyons. This may go against how you feel, but your health is my concern."
Owyn Lyons was a proud warrior, a highly decorated Paladin, and grizzled veteran of the Brotherhood and New California Republic War. Known as the NCR Civil War, the conflict between the Brotherhood of Steel and NCR was long in the making because of certain strains of thought on use of advanced technology. The leadership of the NCR President, Joanna Tibbett, and the ascension of Jeremy Maxson to the leadership of the Brotherhood of Steel moved to cold relations turning to an outright conflict. As a Paladin, Owyn Lyons, held the line protecting the outposts of the Brotherhood of Steel as wave after wave of NCR troops threw themselves in the way of his laser rifle. In the end, the NCR's numbers were too great and the Brotherhood of Steel and so they retreated to their bunkers and secured bases, but Jeremy Maxson was not outdone yet.
Pressuring the ruling council because rumors of great technology in the ruins of the east, Jeremy Maxson put forward an expedition to the Capital Wasteland to find something to turn the tides of war between the NCR and the Brotherhood of Steel. Jeremy Maxson's action caused rifts between Elders from various bunkers, outposts, and former military bases once centralized around the his familial dynasty. Owyn Lyons had found technology that was far advanced and could help the Brotherhood of Steel on the west coast, it led to his promotion to Elder and allotted him the ability to form a base. At the same time, the infighting between individual Elders and Maxson line led to a small internal civil war that resulted in the death of Jeremy Maxson's son and daughter – in – law, Jonathan and Jessica. Their only child Arthur Maxson, Jeremy's grandchild, was sent to the Capital Wasteland to remove him from the conflict as far as possible.
Elder Owyn Lyons removed himself from the situation as well, taking no side in the conflict but that of his own people and the constructive future of the Capital Wasteland. He had fought battle after battle, taking down NCR troopers, super mutants, raiders, and Enclave. He lead and expedition into the unknown and came out the other end shining like a star. Owyn Lyons was a harden man. His personal file in the Codex spoke levels and pages of his deeds. Hundreds looked up to him. At that moment, lying in a vault – tec hospital bed, he was reminded of one scary thought that even he sometimes forgot. I am mortal and closer to finishing this life than starting it, he thought as his throat clenched. Many had sacrifices in the name of the Capital Wasteland, Elder Owyn Lyons knew his time for sacrifice was coming soon.
The justices sat at their bench, the crowd followed suit and sat down. The rules of decorum were being created and followed without prompts from the Judges or the Marshall's Men. Alvarado and Pop were not on trial this day, instead Galvin Cobb was at the defense table. He was wearing simple clothes donated by Scribe Elizabeth Jameson. It was comparatively better than the rags he had patched together for clothes.
Elizabeth Jameson wore her maroon robes, Thomas Notley wore a three piece suit, and the Judges still wore their individualized clothes they were accustomed to for work and life. The trial was in the process of calling witnesses, the prosecution allowed the Brotherhood of Steel time to collect a witness from the north. Sentinel Julian Tristan was vital to the prosecution and the Brotherhood of Steel did not want to hinder either side of the trial as it was in their best interest to proceed without obscurities. However, there were several local witness that Elizabeth had pushed before her colleague's time in court.
"Your honors, for my first witness today, I would like to call the proprietor of Benjamin's Respite," said Jameson as the Judges nodded, the bartender sat in the chair utilized by the witnesses, "please state your name and profession for the crowd."
"My name's Lyle, but most call me Mister Benjamin," replied the man sitting in the witness chair, "I own and operate the town bar and entertainment hall, Benjamin's Repsite."
"Mister Benjamin, as a publican do you hear many stories of the wasteland," Elizabeth Jameson stated as Notley stood up.
"Objection your honors," exclaimed Notley as he cast a glance to the Scribe, "relevance? Seriously, is Scribe Jameson going to subpena and question the whole town?"
"I find the question and witness lacking overt relevance," stated Judge Marshall Lawson in agreement.
"I second," nodded Judge Joost Van Dyke.
"We would be inclined to agree with Assistant Mayor Notley," determined Judge Sheila Torres – Brandice, "where is this questioning going?"
"If your honors will bare with me, all will be clear soon," Jameson said and the Judges nobody, "Mister Benjamin, if you will answer my question please?"
"As a … I dunno the word you used to describe me, Miss, but yes, I hear stories," Lyle Benjamin smiled and leaned back, "nothing goes better with some booze than a story."
"Have you heard stories of former Commander Galvin Cobb," the Scribe held some papers in her hand.
"Must say I've heard of the Fool of Takoma," answered Benjamin, "most common song in my these nights. Biggest joke in the bar too."
"Pardon me, joke," this was not unknown to Jameson, but there were many jokes at the expense of former Commander Cobb.
"How many men does it take to lose a Talon base," asked Lyle Benjamin as the Judges looked perplexed and Jameson asked how many, "well, none. 'Cause Galvin Cobb's...er...gender is...in repute."
The public gallery exploded in laughter and jeers to the former Talon Company commander. Torres – Brandice was banging her gavel hard as the Marshall's Men were motioning for the crowd to quiet down. Galvin Cobb stood up and sneered to the crowd. Elizabeth Jameson ran to her client and tried to force him to sit back down, but the damage to his ego was already too much. Cobb picked up his chair and tossed it into the public gallery hitting several people in the process. A Marshall pulled the the defendant from the table as the gallery began to storm the courtroom.
Ten Marshalls closed ranks and held the crowed back from the defense table and the Judicial bench. They stood shoulder to shoulder and used their weapons as a barrier to prevent the Grayditch citizenry from moving forward. Marshall Bailey was attempting to convince the justices to leave through their chamber door. Jameson was pushed away from her client and fell to the ground, the crowd almost getting a fist full of her robes to pull her into the mayhem.
Marshall Lawson stood up and pointed a forty – four magnum into the air and shot up. The loud bang caused the crowed to stop hassling the Marshall's Men. Some women shrieked in the crowd, afraid someone had been shot. Random bits of wood and plaster fell on Lawson's head. He nodded to his men and they began to assemble again.
"Please make your way back to your seats, ladies and gentlemen," he drawled as he holstered his weapon, "one more outburst like that and we'll eject the whole lot of you. Forcably if you give my men reason."
There were no nodding heads, not even a response from the crowd. People slowly returned from the standing mob to the sitting public gallery. The Marshall's Men grabbed the chair thrown by Galvin Cobb and firmly placed at the defense chair. Another Marshall's Men helped Scribe Elizabeth Jameson up from the floor.
She felt a strain in her ankle and tried to avoid patting pressure on it. Two Marshalls stood behind Galvin Cobb and looked over the crowd. Their long rifles crossed in their arms as their right hands felt the grips of their handguns. Torres – Brandice turned her gaze to the former commander of Talon Company.
"Mister Cobb, behave in such a manner again and we will be forced to restrict your movements," scolded the head of the court.
"Your honor," Elizabeth began to stand but could not hold her weight on her ankle, "trying my client in absentia would violate his right to a fair defense and trial."
"Noted, defense counselor," said Torres – Brandice as she leaned back to talk with the other judges; several nods and Torres – Brandice leaned forward, "Mister Cobb, if you act in such a manner that could harm the public again, you will be bound and gagged. Is that clear?"
Galvin Cobb looked to his counsel and nodded; Torres – Brandice then turned to the crowd, "as for the public gallery, if you assemble in a mob like action again, we will be forced to empty the courtroom and bar the public from the proceedings. There is no discussion on the matter."
"You can't decide to bar us from viewing," retorted a man as he stood up to rally the crowd, "we live here and can go where we want! No matter what you may say!"
The crowd nodded with approval, some even voicing out their agreement; Torres – Brandice whispered into Bailey's ear before directing her voice to the court, "In this hall, we Justices are the final word on law. You, sir, are to be escorted from the courtroom. If you resist, I have instructed the Marshalls to arrest you."
One of the Marshall's Men were ushering the man from his seat and out of the court, "on what grounds are you throwing me out, Brandice, what is your reason you witch," he yelled as the Marshall pulled him by the elbow.
"Disrupting the proceedings of the court," replied Torres – Brandice as the Marshall forcibly removed the man, she turned to Scribe Elizabeth Jameson, "please proceed."
In a dark facility with the emergency lights providing the only form of visible light, dwelled on of the most feared leaders of the wasteland. His armor was unique, old black combat armor that he welded metal reinforcements for support and terror. His helmet was an old and beaten riot helmet missing the plastic face guard. There rusty surgical implements on the table along with some chemical and science sets. A man in his underwear sat on an old metal chair, a pre – war machine and monitor hung near him, there were grotesque scars and freshly stitched wounds around swollen, sore, and bruised muscles.
Commander Jabsco paced in front of this man. He was adjusting a special cocktail of psycho as he walked back and forth along the same path. Jabsco knelt down to the man's thigh and locked the leather straps as the patient struggled. One of his soldiers approached as he jammed the needle into the test subject's leg. The man in the chair yelled and cried out, but his sounds were muffled in the gag tightened to his head and mouth. Jabsco began to wash his hands in a bowl of water as a soldier walked down the metal steps with a message for him.
"Important information from the Second Scouts, sir," the soldier, a low level Lieutenant, reported and stood back trying to avoid the disgusting scene before his eyes.
Wiping his hands on a dirty rag, "report, L – T," Jabsco's voice was monotone but heavy.
"The Second Scouts report the location of the traitor," the Lieutenant said as he slowly relaxed, "the settlement of Grayditch is putting him through a … trial, sir."
Jabsco sneered at his soldier causing the man to become defensive, the Brotherhood of Steel runs that town, "tell the Second Scouts to recover the traitor when able, they are to not fire on the Brotherhood of Steel in anyway."
"Yes Commander," replied the low level officer as he turned to leave, "what about the settlers, sir?"
"Fuck those assholes," answered the Commander as the guinea pig fought against the restraints as Jabsco took out a rusty blade and began to reopen on of the old wounds, "I'm going to make you into a super weapon, Hathaway, my super weapon."
The new Brotherhood of Steel initiates were training in the courtyard. Paladin Gunny ordered a ceasefire and for the new initiates to congregate in the center of the yard. Daniel Roe was flanked by Schieber, Bors, Newton, and Ban with Bael behind them all. Acting Elder Reginald Rothchild along with several scribes and Sentinel Lyons stood with him, her squad was back in the Citadel for resupply. Operative Roe was shirtless, his bare chest and back chilled as the Capitol began to enter the colder rainy season. The areas outside of the D.C. Ruins would not see the rain, but inside the aged ruins of the former world empire the water and frost would collect.
His skin bristled with goose pimples to make his light, nearly invisible, body hair stand on end. At one of the arched canopies used for target practice, the Scribes tossed two ropes over a cross beam. Roe offered his arms freely, Ban and Bors bound his wrists and forearms tightly. They tightened the rope, tension was put on Roe's back and shoulders; his heels lifted from the ground as he balanced on his toes. Bael stood in front of him, a twisted leather rope in his hands that had a metal tip that ran for three inches.
"Take this, it'll keep you from biting your tongue off," the Star Paladin pushed a wad of leather into Roe's mouth, "and just remember that loyalty is a double – edged sword, whichever way it swings limbs are bound to be cut. We walk the middle of the blade, constantly balancing. Unfortunately, when you attempt to throw your team mates and leaders under Liberty Prime, there are repercussions."
Dan winces as his lips fumbled around the wad of brahmin leather. The whip in Star Paladin Cristano Bael's hand was twenty – five feet long and he stood twenty – four feet and nine inches behind Roe's bare back. Rothchild was informing the new local initiates on the reason for Dan's corporal punishment. The Operative could not hear him, but what he did know was the no risk will be worth lashes. Most everyone in the Citadel stopped from their daily duties and personal lives to view the sentencing of the Tribunal.
The first cut was the deepest, starting from his right shoulder to his left ribs across his back. Bael would crisscross the cuts, counting off the number as some of the crowd winced at the hard hits slashing against Roe's back. Large cuts of sliced skin hung from his back as he bled. Dan's knees had gone weak and his wrists were getting cut by the ropes. Hot and angry tears rad down his face, Quintus Schieber turned away after the fifteenth lash. Elder Rothchild had not watched the dealing of his sentence.
The Acting Elder did not see the justice to corporal punishment, just it's logical application. Daniel Roe's tribunal had been the first one in years for the Brotherhood of Steel; the Outcasts were not subject to them as tribunals could only occur with the accused present and accounted for. It was also Elder Rothchild's first judicial decision as a leader of the Brotherhood of Steel. He sought to continue the policies of Elder Lyons, while paving his own practice as a leader of the order in the eyes of Knights, Paladins, and Scribes. He was tough, smart, and adhered to the rules of the Brotherhood of Steel set in the Codex and the new policies of interaction set by his long time friend. Many questioned if Elder Rothchild would step down with the return of Lyons, the tribunal answered this question with an affirming no.
On the twentieth lash, Roe moaned out and pushed the leather wad from his mouth. Dan clenched his teeth and moaned in pain and prolonged anger as Bael whipped him. The sound of his pained cries with each lash opening a wound on his back filled the courtyard. Wounds formed upon wounds, the sight of the long and deep cuts made the new initiates queasy. Bael's arm was getting tired, the power armor added extra strength to the lashes. As soon as the sentence began it was finished; however, for those watching and for Roe, it seemed to have lasted for hours.
At Paradise Falls, Eulogy Jones had gone over the recently acquired stock from the Republic and mobilized them quickly in the few days he had organized months in advanced. The slaves were categorized into certain groups for sale; some were destined to hard labor, others for personal pleasures, while yet another group would be taught skills that would make their labor more important and valued in the post – Great War world. The direct route between the Pitt and Paradise Falls had been loss, but a secondary and slower route had been brought back into use. The land route, compared to the rail system, meant a longer travel time for stock to be transferred with limited rations over a vastly longer distance. On third of those that made the trip, slave and slaver a like, died en route. This was of no consequence to the slavers of Paradise Falls because it made slaves worth more caps and the ratio between caps and steel increase. Eulogy Jones was happy to provide the supply of humans because there was a need for labor, for sex slaves, and cannon fodder in small wars.
The gated pens were filled as the purchasers were looking over the stock. The representatives came from all over the Capital Wasteland. Some families from Drayden, the Pitt, Evergreen Mills, and the Eastern Shore had brought goods, caps, and human stock for barter in the auction. The representatives from the Pitt, who looked as diseased as their transports, and their pack brahmins carried freshly pressed steel sheets and parts. The families from Drayden kept separate with their kinsman, the genetic lines established established groups, friendship, and rivalries. The raiders from Evergreen Mills also had traders mixed in their group and held themselves with a cheap air of independence because they were not beholden to any group, organization, or kinship ties but that of their own person.
The human stock offered by the independents of Evergreen Mills were emaciated and sickly, they were to be turned in for a credit of caps written as a voucher, because of work in the quarry. Limestone was the main good of the Mills, the finished products were stones and concrete. The Foreman of the Mills had created an adequate market to produce an ancient building material. The common application was put to helping reinforce the main building, but hard labor was needed for those building supplies, along with technicians skilled in stone cutting, and the independents thought the work beneath their perceived status.
The representatives of the Eastern Shore were separated in different groups, Eulogy Jones made sure that the warring states did not use aggression in the area of Paradise Falls, though looked similar in how different they were from everyone else. Their skin tone was darker, nearly olive, but glowing and had thicker dark hair, and a common trait was darker eyes except for one clan. Their clothing ranged from simple cloth, leather, and some that had tempered metal. The cotton used for the cloth was mostly died green and brown, formed by local dyes taken from shellfish, and skilled textile weavers and cotton spinners. The leather they wore changed amongst clans, some using padded leather while others used stripes bound together and those that treated animal skin to make leather by their women chewing the skin to be soft and spitting on it to make it aged. The one thing that seemed to overtly connect all the clans was their need for slaves.
Eulogy Jones did not care for any of his buyers, he did not treat one group better than the other. Chattel slavery was about business and Jones was primarily a businessman. The slave auction was his soap box and money maker. The stage was set and his hired brutes brought forward the first batch for sale, several ghouls that would bring a low price because of prejudice in the region. Salesmanship was knowing what the people wanted, and since he wanted the most amount of caps lining their pouches he presented his worst product first to sell it off quickly.
"First up are several shufflers, caught around five months back, unengaged and fed for that time," the small stage held nine ghouls that differed widely in height, from five feet and two inches to six feet and nine inches tall, and body type, from thin to broad; the ghouls did not wear shackles because the slave collars were tight around their neck, "eldest is determined to be two hundred and seventy – two. The youngest is said to be a hundred and ninety – four. As a group, let's begin the bidding at ten thousand caps."
The representatives carefully examined the stock and no purchasers put a bid for the group. Eulogy Jones knew he needed to unload these rotters or else he'd suffer a major net loss of caps. Smiling, he made a motion with his right hand and his head brute separated the nine ghouls. From his podium he looked to the crowd.
"Seeing no bids for the group, let us divide between ghouls," he made the come forward hand signal and the tall one was pushed forward by the butt of a rifle, "standing at six foot nine inches, aged around two hundred and fifty years, stands Jumbo. Good for hard labor, still able to work stone and fields. Best for big game hunting, if so desired. Let's start the bidding at a thousand."
One of the representatives lifted their hand up in the air, Jones called it out and pushed the bid up for another representative. Hands were raised between the Mills and the Pitt, as well. One of the Drayden families were bidding as well. The price rose from a thousand to a thousand five hundred quickly, but it took nearly a full three minutes to get the final bid of two thousand three hundred caps. The tall and broad ghoul, now named Jumbo, was purchased and a sold tag hung around his neck.
"The first purchase today goes to the McCullen family of Drayden, onto the second item of this group," and like that the sale in human life continued.
Samuel Warrick watched with feigned interest. He came from the South, from a place where slavery was the cornerstone of the local way of life. The main difference between the slavery of the Capital Wasteland and that of the South was the equal opportunity of the North. Skin color and race still determined one's status in the south, a reversion to some old beliefs thought to have been eradicated with the inclusion propaganda of the former American Empire. However, some historical currents were hard to dismantle when fringe ideologies survive to prosper after great devastation. Warrick snapped back to the present, still struck by the ability of anyone to be impressed into slavery if they were unlucky enough to be caught but a slaver.
Carolina Red sat nest to the bounty hunter and passed him a drink; he eyed it carefully, "how am I tah know yeh didn't slip me a knock out drug," he asked with mild concern.
Carolina laughed like a hyena, "iffin I wanted to catch yah, Sam Warrick, I'd made plans to sell you in this here spectacle," she pinched on his cheek, "an old hunter like yourself would catch a pretty cap."
"Why, Miss Carolina, I don't know whether to thank you or give you a permanent limp so I can track you better," said Warrick as he took a small sip of the alcohol.
"More like a limp so you'll be able to run away," she laughed as the watched another slave sold, "them caps sure do feel right in my pouch."
"What adjustment rate did you work out with Eulogy," Warrick watched the sale of more humans.
"Plus fifteen thousand," replied Red with a devilish smile, Warrick spit up into his drink.
"And Walker, know his adjustment rate," the bounty hunter some times wished he got into the slavery business professionally.
"Leroy is proud of getting plus ten thousand, negative fifteen thousand," answered Red as she sat back and put her elbows back on the picinic table, "the idiot hasn't even come for the auction himself. He's expecting to find out later in a ledger from Jones."
"So all loss is pretty much covered by Leroy," filed away Warrick as he shook his head to Eulogy's brilliance; he then chose his next words for impact, "I've been hearing things about the Republic, you hear the rumors too?"
Red scoffed, "let them build an army, just makes them want to buy stock from us more."
Warrick pondered this, thinking of a fast way to make a cap. He stood up, leaving his drink unfinished. Carolina put a hand on his leather clad thigh.
"Where do you think you're going, ol' man," she asked as she firmly gripped his inner thigh, "I want to celebrate my cap winnings."
Samuel Warrick looked down into Carolina's face, her shaved head allowing two red tuffs shaped like devil horns on her crown, "your young enough to be my daughter."
"Funny, that's what my pop said too," she said before smiling evilly, "before he made me bleed for the first time."
Incest disgusted the Bounty Hunter, but in a society with little morality and a lack of social taboos, who was he to voice his personal opinion. Reconciling that Red was not his own lin, also she was the one that propositioned him, he agreed. She stood and led him to her room. Warrick took out an inhaler of jet to help stimulate his old bones.
Quintus Schieber and Jamie Bors were suited up and had secured a vertibird. They had drafted a contract with Elder Rothchild for the Republic. The Brotherhood of Steel didn't acknowledge the culpability of the Operative Daniel Roe, but it was clear through the terms that a lot of leeway was given to the Republic. In the vertibird, Schieber and Bors had requisitioned four fifty – five galleon drums of aqua pura and a single Mister Handy unit under the command of a Scribe and two Knights. The only item requested of the Republic was the procurement of goods to create a small Brotherhood of Steel barracks and the quartering of members until it was complete.
The parchment was drawn up and the yellow seal of the Brotherhood of Steel was embossed on the bottom of the page. Schieber had sent a letter out to his family by way of courier to begin trade negotiations. Bors brought something that surprised the younger operative, holotapes of his family. He didn't play the recordings on the way to the Republic, he just seemed to stare off into space as he absentmindedly stroked the storage devices.
The twin rotors whirled as the ground moved quickly under the craft. They landed slowly to the right of the Republic so as to not bother the livestock and kick up dirt and sand. The Republican Guards greeted them, the Scribe, Knights, and Brotherhood pilot stayed on board the vertibird. Schieber and Bors left the craft and walked with the guards to talk with President Rosie.
In a few short days, the Republic had mobilized all the guards for more detailed shifts and something that resembled martial law. The compound held more armed guards than before, lookout posts on building help protect from future attacks. President Rosie had tightened the reigns of freedom with in the Republic. The operatives saw children that were being taught to fire a weapon when several days ago they were educated from books. The shinning light that Quin and Jamie saw was beginning to flicker.
Inside the President's office, the Operatives were left with Rosie, "welcome back Knights Bors and Schieber."
"Good to see you in good health," answered Bors as he held the parchment close, "we bring a contract with us from the Brotherhood of Steel and Elder Rothchild."
"May I see those terms," asked Rosie as she held out an open palm to the Knights; Bors gave her the document and she read it over quickly, "hmm...your terms seem reasonable but we need to focus on rebuilding and increasing defenses first and foremost."
"The wording of the agreement prevents the Brotherhood from building offensive weapons. The small team can help build the defensive structures," pointed out Schieber to the wording, "but the small teams we plan to have rotating in every so often will ensure the delivery of water and recovery from attack."
Rosie nodded and took another look at the parchment, "we are able to take care of ourselves gentlemen."
"We do not deny that," Bors moved closer to the President, "you have handled the crisis well, but when a friend offers an open hand don't sit and appraise it."
Cocking her head to the side, Rosie took a better look at Bors' face, "may this agreement lead to better relations between the Republic and the Brotherhood of Steel."
"Trees of life can only be planted in fertile ground," agreed Schieber as he took a second copy out for Rosie to sign as well so that one could be stored with the Order of the Quills, "I'll go an mobilize the team."
Schieber left the President and Knight Bors, "Rosie, I brought something to show you."
"What is it," she asked, slightly flattered but with her mind else where.
"In loss... we both share a bond, but I wanted you to hear my wife and son's voice," said Bors as he inserted the holotape into his player.
They both listened to the message of love and longing from Bors' son and wife, "your wife sounded like an angle and your son sounded adorable," Rosie held back her emotions to just allow her eyes to mist.
"They were... and that's how I remember them," Bors put away hi holotape, "and that's how you need to remember Bob, as well."
Rosie looked deep into Bors' eyes, "I will find those responsible and gain my vengeance a pound of flesh at a time."
Jamie held the President's hand, "tell me about Bob, I only knew him for a short time."
"You don't want to know, not really, you're just being nice," said Rosie as she pushed Bors' hand from hers.
"Sure I do," he answered, "what was his childhood like?"
"Bob was a needy child," said Rosie as she stood and crossed to the safe and opened it to take out a small toy teddy bear that she held, "he was so sweet. But Dave, his father, couldn't have a sweet son. He needed to be cunning and ruthless, like his father."
"A sweet child can not become cunning or ruthless," assured Bors.
"No, Bob couldn't, he was good son, very loyal," agreed Rosie, "it's..."
"No parent should ever have to bury their child," stated Bors as he gave her hand a firm clench.
She looked at him with sad but thankful eyes, "tell me about your son."
Operative Daniel Roe was lying in his stomach in the Citadel's clinic. Elder Rothchild refused to have his lashes mended by Sawbones. The pain, discomfort, and scars were meant to be a reminder. Star Paladin Bael was to be Roes direct minder now, no longer would he be stationed out of the Megaton region. Yearling and Bael had agreed to relocate Roe to Grayditch mainly because Bael had become too overt of a figure and needed to pull back. Likewise, most citizens of Grayditch knew Elizabeth Jameson and Georgina Mendel, specifically what they looked like. The goal was originally to set up Roe in Megaton and Springvale, but that plan had to be adapted based on the ruling of Elder Rothchild.
However, just showing up in Grayditch without any type of cover would leave too many open questions. Bael had recovered an authorized amount of caps, equal to the cost of all six ghouls under Crowley's contract. Roe was to form a mercenary group that had a branch in Grayditch. The last two parts, the purchasing of a building and registering the business with the Grayditch council would become difficult. The Star Paladin told him not to worry about the difficult parts, so Roe's mind was focused on the creation of a real mercenary group that had originally started as a cover story and the pain from his back.
The Scribe in the medical clinic handed Roe his shirt. The young man grabbed it awkwardly and winced as the pressure of the clothe hurt his wounds. His combat armor added more weight and caused more discomfort. Dan had to walk slowly so that his armor didn't jostle as he met up with Bael. The back plate of his combat armor would hit his injured back as he walked. Dan put his jacket on, a gray waist coat that was tied with a leather belt with a second holster on it.
Cristano Bael was in a dirty suit he used for common day clothes. He laughed internally when he saw the slow gate of the operative. Roe was a strong kid, but in the wastes you needed to be more than strong. Together they preceded to Springvale. The walk taking less than half a day at the fast pace Bael set.
At Crowley's Games & Cards, the guards nodded with respect to Roe. The two men, Operative and operational head, were allowed entrance into Crowley's office. There was no fuss from the guards, nor really anyone escorting them, however eyes followed them as they made their way to Mister Crowley. The ghoul boss was enjoying a mix drink by his fireplace. He turned to greet the men, he appraised Bael as his deaden eyes looked him up and down.
"Mister Crowley, I presume," said the Star Paladin, there was no motion to extend a hand to shake the ghoul.
"You're this one's boss," stated the ghoul, his voice like gravel.
"I'm the main backer," answered Bael, his posture was meant to be neutral.
"One boss to another then," insisted Crowley and Roe left the two to talk.
"The recent mission Mister Roe ran worked great with your men," commented Bael honestly as he tried to gauge the dead face of Crowley, "and I would like to purchase the remainder of their contracts."
"I don't sell contracts before I see the money," the ghoul said as he sat down behind the chair.
Bael put a large rucksack on Crowley's desk filled with caps, "here is the rounded off amount you quote Mister Roe earlier."
Crowley looked over the caps to make certain they were legit, "an organization like yours would have made waves before."
"We don't intend to make waves here," said Bael firmly, "but we do plan to set up shop in Grayditch."
"To many smoothskins," commented Crowley as he zipped up the rucksack.
"So do I have a deal for the contracts," asked Cristano as he moved to take the bag of caps back.
Crowley stopped him, holding the Star Paladin's smoothskin with his scaly and scabby hand, "we have a deal, but if I find out these men are used against me I will hunt you down and eat your flesh raw from your living body."
Bael made a disgusted look on his face as he took his hand from the ghoul, "let's hop it doesn't come to that."
"Fucking racist," mumbled Crowley as he pulled six contracts and added a new line to them, "just sign here smoothskin."
"Were do we pick them up," asked Bael as he signed the name C.B. Alexandria.
"They will be in the security room," answered Crowley as he looked over the signature, "Mister Alexandria, I see... why yes I've heard about you and your mercenaries."
"I hope my reputation speaks for itself," replied Bael as he took the papers and exchange the caps.
"Indeed your men are intelligent," agreed Crowley as he took the caps, "but they are only good based on the backing of caps."
"They have certainly made you a richer man," answered the Star Paladin, "I must go pick up my men."
Crowley nodded and Bael left the room. Roe joined his minder as they walked to the security room. Franklin, Zhao, Daan, and the others were all waiting with the kits packed and the radio on. Bael eyed the radio that ran on vacuum tubes and handed the contracts to Roe. The were all to travel to Grayditch where the housing arrangements would be made. The ghouls put on their face masks so as not to scare the people of Grayditch.
Elizabeth Jameson moved slowly with a limp due to an untreated sprained ankle. The trial of Galvin Cobb had commenced again. A famous figure like former Commander Cobb drew more attention than that of the Operatives by the Capital Wasteland. The trial had returned with another witness, one that garnered fear along with his word holding meaning. Sentinel Tristan was next to be questioned. He sat in his modified power armor called 'Dillo wear, his helmet off and positioned in his lap.
Thomas Notley's questions had been short and to the point. What was his rank, and Tristan answered Sentinel; who out ranks Sentinels, and the answer was only Elders. Notley asked if Tristan was at assembly in question, and he answered yes; and what was his role, Julian Tristan answered he took down the bastard that shot Knight Jenson. Scribe Jameson had an issue on her hands because her line of questions would make Tristan go into a rage.
The Sentinel looked like a hard man, as as Proctor of the Order of the Quills, Jameson knew his deeds well, "Sentinel Tristan, how long have you served with the Brotherhood of Steel?"
"All my life," answered the grizzled leader from the Northern Frontier, "been an active duty for thirty years."
"How would you describe the crowd outside the clinic the day Knight Geoffrey Jenson was shot," asked the Scribe.
"Chaos, Mister Notley called it an assembly," Sentinel Tristan paused, "but to us in the Brotherhood, it seemed like a group of murderous tribals. I was helping with security moving two of our men, but in the crowd that man ran up to Jenson and shot him."
Julian Tristan had pointed to Galvin Cobb, "was there any indication that former Commander Cobb initiated the mob or the violence?"
"We could barely see three feet in front of us," admitted Sentinel Tristan, "the crowd was so thick that it forced us close together. When I saw Jenson go down... I moved quickly to grab the guy."
"Sentinel Tristan, are you saying you didn't see my client fire the weapon," asked Jameson with a pause.
"I heard the gun shot and saw Jenson go down," replied Tristan, "I was able to knock the guy down and removed a forty – four caliber handgun. It had been fired recently, and some of Jenson's blood was on the barrel."
"The point still remains, Sentinel Tristan, you did not see former Commander Cob shoot that man," stated Jameson.
Sentinel Tristan showed visible anger at the Scribe, "the smoking gun was in his hands."
"Did you see the gun before it was fired, Sentinel Tristan," asked Jameson as she rested on the table to take pressure off her feet.
"No," answered Tristan tersely.
"Did you see the gun in my client's hand after you tackled him to the ground," asked Jameson plainly.
"It was right next to him on the ground," stated Tristan firmly.
"Yes or no, Sentinel, did you see the weapon in the defendant's hands at all," the Scribe pushed as Julian Tristan became angered and half stood from his chair before he sat back down.
"No, I did not," he growled through gritted teeth.
"Is it possible that my client didn't even hold that gun or fire that shot," Jameson was moving towards the kill, providing as much reasonable doubt as she could.
There was a long pause before Tristan replied, "no, he killed Jenson."
"How are you certain, Sentinel, you yourself even said that the crowd was so close and packed that you couldn't see past three feet," stated the Scribe.
Tristan exploded in a rage from his seat, "how dare you! Have you no honor? You defend a piece of filth, the killer of your brother! He murdered Jenson! And you sit hear and defend him!"
Justice Sheila Torres – Brandice banged her gavel hard. The public gallery had erupted like before. Emotions were running strong. The Marshall's Men were trying to calm the people and return the courtroom to order. Tristan was up and out of his seat, a Marshall holding him back by blocking his way.
"A twenty minute recess is in order," said the head Justice and court was put on hold, the Marshall waited for the Sentinel to calm down before letting him pass.
Sentinel Tristan walked up to Scribe Jameson as the other Marshall's Men helped guide the public gallery out of the court room, "what the hell was that, Liz?"
"We shouldn't be talking like this," answered the Scribe.
"I answered your questions, now answer mine," said Tristan with force.
"What do you want to know," asked the Scribe.
"Why are you defending a piece of shit like Cobb," he asked with a glare to the former Talon Commander.
"That answer is above your pay grade," replied Jameson.
"There are very few above my level, Scribe," he replied with a slight snarl.
"Don't you have to get back to the North sometime," she said coldly, "not that I want to see you off, just that I think you've grown to like the...climate up there."
Operative Hannah Newton and Knight Michael Ban were welcomed to the large section of the Commonwealth encampment run by the Kingdom of Brandia. The large encampment by itself seemed like a small town; there was a working blacksmith, cobbler, bakery, and butcher. Charles Everidge, the Prime Advisor to the Prince of Brandia, had sent a formal request for Ban and Newton to visit. The operatives decided not to wear their power armor as it did not seem culturally appropriate based on the looks they received from others from the Kingdom of Brandia. The event that Newton and Ban were invited to resembled monarchs of medieval Europe holding court. Regional lords and ladies from Brandia discussed politics, the weather, and the adventure to this new and exotic place. A small band of mistrals played music in the corner of the vaulted tent with caterers walking about serving small portions of hand food.
Ban and Newton both wore army dress clothes, the insignias of captains were pinned to their passants, the epaulettes that went with them seemed to gaudy and frivolous. As they walked forward to the simple wooden thrown that the Brandians had brought with them on their pilgrimage, the other court attendees stared at the representatives from the Brotherhood of Steel. They stuck out like sore thumbs because all of the nobility and knights looked like characters from a badly misinterpreted medieval historical text. The Prime Advisor whispered into the Prince's ear, the two massive dogs at the feet of the throne perked up to the approaching Operatives.
"Thank you for the invitation, Prince Brandian," expressed Ban with sincerity as he bowed his head.
"Welcome to our little slice of Brandia," greeted the Prince as he petted his dogs, and saw Newton's face scrunched up in concern, "don't mind Holmes and Warren, Brandian Mastiffs are very well trained and loyal."
"They're massive," stated Newton at a loss of words.
"They'll allow you to pet them as long as you approach them slowly," said the Prince as the Prime Advisor looked at the dogs with disdain, "they're a great breed to have as they can detect treachery in the heart of anyone."
"The Brotherhood of Steel would like to ensure that you have enjoyed your stay thus far," Ban continued with the cordial greeting.
"There is something I've been meaning to ask as a favor, if the Brotherhood of Steel will indulge me and my men," asked the Prince as he cracked a smile to show his teeth, "as this is a pilgrimage."
Ban gave a sideways glance to Newton, "we cannot promise anything, but we will represent your interests to Elder Rothchild."
"I, and my personal bodyguards, would love to visit the National Mall," Louis Brandian commented.
"Your grace, the Mall is under constant siege. There have been two areas that have been secured, but the majority of the Mall remains under constant conflict," offered Ban in hope to build good relations based on the freedom of sharing information.
The Prime Advisor and the Prince conversed for a minute before they turned back tot he operatives, "we look forward to hearing what Elder Rothchild will say."
"We shall let them know and plan a trip to the secured areas in good faith," answered Ban as the Prince nodded and the operatives backed away with the conversation official over.
The Prince talked again with Everidge, "we'll give them the information on the Enclave after we've gained access to the National Archives."
"Before or after we find the codes for Devens," asked the Prince, trusting in Everidge's judgment.
"Ideally after. Think of it, your grace, we can subdue War Castle and expand your kingdom two fold!" Exclaimed Lord Brighton with a smile, "and the people will not call you a war monger, as they have your father. You'll still be adored and love as Louis the Kind."
"Emet v'tzedek," intoned the Prince, using the motto in the language the Kingdom of Brandia was established on, which meant 'truth and justice'.
Charles Everidge replied in like and as the two separated he also added, "fiat lux, Prince Brandian, fiat lux."
In the medical center of Vault 101, Doctor Cushing and Scribe Mendel were with Elder Lyons. Doctor Weston Lesko had been discharged under twenty – four seven house care of two Scribes and a three month supply of blood thinners. The Scribes left in Vault 101 felt relieved that the Grayditch researcher and geneticist had left. Now attention was paid to making Elder Lyons stronger since he awoke. The leader of the Brotherhood of Steel had an issue with his treatment in the medical center.
The right hand and leg of Elder Lyons went through numb periods and had slower than normal reaction speeds. This lead to the Elder wobbling and almost falling on several occasions, refusing the assistance of the Scribes, even that of Mendel, due to his own pride. Doctor Cushing had already secured a wheelchair for the Brotherhood leader. It would most likely be a situation for the rest of the Elder's life. Also, through physical therapy and prolonged mental examinations, the typical patient and pleasant attitude of Owyn Lyons would turn to quick anger and frustration.
Elder Lyons sat in his new, and probably permanent wheelchair, in his royal blue robes. The surgery scar on his head was healing well along with some sparse hair growth. He was rubbing his aged right hand as he lost feeling in it, yet again. Owyn Lyons was thankful to be alive, but was slightly off – put by the changes he saw within himself.
Peter Williams Cushing and Georgina Mendel were in the room with Lyons as he voice his mind to them, "I am to return to the Citadel."
"Elder, we don't feel that is the best decision," replied the Scribe as she took a seat on his medical room bed.
"I decide what is best for me and for others as well," answered Owyn Lyons from his sitting position.
"In here, no offense, but I am in charge," said Cushing, as he crossed his arms.
"You of all people should not question me," seethed Lyons as he had a mood swing, he breathed slowly for a second before talking again, "there are items I have left unattended. The sort of things that can not be left unattended."
"Elder Lyons, it is up to me to watch your health and ensure your recovery," answered the doctor, "no matter who you are I will uphold my oath."
"I too have an oath to upkeep," said Lyons with a firm look in his eyes, "and as we both come from organizations bound by honor, I hope you will respect my decision."
"Much wiser men than you have made worse decisions before, and as every fiber in my being compels me to keep you here and lock down," the doctor sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I have no real power to keep you here. You may leave when you feel the need to."
"Thank you, Doctor Cushing," Lyons shifted in his chair to look at Mendel, "get a vertibird ready, Scribe Mendel."
"Yes, Elder Lyons," agreed Mendel as she walked out of the room and was quickly followed by Peter Cushing.
"Georgina, you and I both know it's too soon for him to leave," he said as he kept pace with her, "give him a month, maybe two, more to recover. He can't even stay awake for twelve hours."
"I wasn't the one that backed down in there," corrected the Scribe, "you did that on your own, Cushing."
"Then you need to watch him like a hawk," he said, shrugging off the verbal rebuke, "if any conditions worsen he needs to be brought back here quickly."
"I doubt he'll keep me as his personal physician," answered Mendel, her own thoughts on returning to her research.
"Make it so you are the only choice," pushed Cushing as they made their way to the overseers office, "how many of your group would seek the expertise of a former Enclave doctor?"
Not many, thought Georgina, "I need to arrange Elder Lyons' transport to the Citadel," Cushing nodded walked away.
The judges of Grayditch sat in a dimly lit room serving as their their chambers as they looked over each others notes for both trials. There was a clear prejudice against Galvin Cobb, manly lead by Marshall Lawson. The two Brotherhood of Steel members were in a tricky situation. The court was split on the attempted murder charge, however, the private property was clearly unanimous amongst them.
Sheila Torres – Brandice sighed as she looked over the file again. Closing arguments would occur soon. Before those final statements, on last witness was to take the stand. The most important of all the witnesses was Doctor Weston Lesko. Healed and able to talk, he was to be questioned tomorrow. Torres – Brandice looked at how her colleagues were leaning based on their written notes. She sighed, knowing she would be the deciding vote on life or death. Exile was an option to keep one alive, but the other member of the Brotherhood of Steel, Lolli Pop, had the most damning evidence against him. The shoe was about to fall and Torres – Brandice knew she'd have to make the right decision for Grayditch, and her own blemished and pock – marked conscious.
A/N: Thank you for patiently waiting for this latest chapter. Work and school have picked up and in my spare moments I write out the chapters long hand to later transcribe on the computer. There will be only one more chapter in the Trials of Diplomacy series, it will be a noticeably larger chapter as it is half written and on two notebooks already. The next of the series is also getting outlined, no title as of yet, but it will look into the individual stories of the BIOS members more. As always, please read and review. Your reviews lead me to writing better fanfiction!