"They sicken of the calm, who know the storm" – Dorothy Parker

………………..

Chapter Eleven: Before the Storm

Liam pulled away from the telescope's eyepiece and snapped "Here they come! Get into that building!" He jumped down off the car and heeding his own command began to sprint for the huge cubical structure that stood across from the broad plaza to the south of the Citadel. Everyone followed. They climbed single-file into a small opening in the western wall where the mortar had crumbled. When the super mutants came after them they would have to enter one at a time.

Except that none of them did. Daniel carefully peered back out the way they had come in. Their pursuers had stopped running and were now milling around the plaza with the rest of the mutants. They apparently had lost interest.

"They're gone." said Daniel, a puzzled look on his broad face. "What's going on here?"

"Are east coast super mutants normally so … fickle?" asked Liam.

"No." several voices replied in unison.

Three Dog continued after exchanging looks with the others. "Normally the Frankensteins will keep coming on blindly, even in the face of overwhelming odds. This is really strange."

"I ain't complaining." said Silvia, her neck still raw from the recently-removed collar. "Now shut the fuck up before you jinx us."

"God has seen to our salvation." Hanu added. "It is not for us to question His reasons."

"It's still pretty damn peculiar, you must agree." The speaker was a man dressed in some oddly-constructed kind of combat armor and what appeared to be an Australian slouch hat. What stood out the most, however, was neither his armor nor his headgear; the speaker was a ghoul.

"Are you wearing a Digger?" asked Liam?

"Liam!" scolded Maggie. "This is not the time."

"You know I've always fancied a Digger, Maggs," Liam continued, "but I suppose you're right. Do you know why the big uglies are acting all lethargic?"

"Haven't the foggiest." the ghoul said sticking his hand out. "Gideon Hart. Delighted to make your acquaintance."

To his credit, Liam took the proffered hand without flinching and introduced himself in turn. Hart wore fingerless gloves, however, and when Liam released his grip his hand came back with no tissue fragments attached. The rest of the party followed suit and once the pleasantries were complete Maggie asked "Mr. Hart?"

"Gideon, please. We're all facing almost certain death and dismemberment at the hands of this horde of mutants. Don't you think we should be on a first name basis?"

"Of course. Gideon, then." said Maggie. "Have you searched the rest of this building for mutants?"

"This building is my home." said Gideon. "It appears to be devoid of mutants. Curious, as they normally prefer to live in some kind of shelter. I was watching from above when I saw you approach. I'd suggest we adjourn to the top floor. It's defensible, it's open to the roof in places and I have … quarters there. You can make yourselves comfortable – at least until the mutants attack and kill us."

"How long have you been here, Gideon?" asked Daniel, his curiosity for the moment causing him to ignore the invitation.

"Oh, let's see; I guess that next month it will be two hundred and eleven years."

No one spoke. Even the mutants massed outside were forgotten for the moment. Finally, Daniel said "You're serious. And you're not mad, are you?"

"Unfortunately no, though not for lack of trying I assure you." Gideon answered glibly. Then in a more serious tone he went on "In 2077 I was an Australian military attaché to the United States of America, a post I had held since 2076. On the evening of October 23rd I attended a performance of King Lear that was held in the theatre down the hall. At one time this was the home of the Washington Shakespeare Company. The bombs fell at 10:47 PM; just before the final curtain. The play is certainly bloody, but it's no match for what followed."

"You've been here for more than 200 years?" Vikia asked, wide-eyed.

"Well, I do forage, and I stay out of the way of those knights." he said, indicating the Citadel with a nod in its direction. "Once in a while I'll take a trip to Underworld, but after nearly two hundred and forty years on this planet I sometimes find the company of others to be tiresome."

"You don't sound Australian." Liam pointed out.

"You don't sound like a raider." Gideon countered.

"Touché."

Liam studied the man, trying not to appear rude. He was of average height and build; come to think of it, he had never seen an obese or even a fat ghoul. He still had most of his hair which he wore in an archaic comb-over. He realized that the ghoul's armor looked odd because it was probably as old as Gideon himself. It was clean, or as close to clean as things get these days. And he was old. Old, Liam thought with a flash of intuition, is good. When everything you know about the pre-War world comes from books and holotapes, an authentic memory of the past is damn near priceless.

"We could use your help." said Liam.

"We can help one another." replied Gideon. "I think it unlikely that we will survive whatever is taking place outside, but undoubtedly we are stronger together than alone."

"Yes, we can help each other stay alive, Gideon; but I had something different in mind." Liam said cryptically.

Gideon smiled, nodded once and said "I'd like to hear about it Liam, but let's talk upstairs. I have a couple of bottles of a '65 Australian Merlot that I've been saving for a special occasion."

"Sounds wonderful Gideon; most wines don't last 12 years these days." Liam said as he headed for the stairwell.

"Actually, it was bottled in 2065." said Gideon, following him.

………………….

Hart's suite was spacious – palatial even. "Even Dukov doesn't live like this." said Daniel absently.

"Dukov? That old sybarite? How is he?" asked Gideon.

"Um, well he ran afoul of a ghoul by the name of Crowley a few months back." Daniel informed him. "Nearly lost his head."

"Hardly surprising in his line of work, but all's well that ends well." Gideon concluded. "Now let's have a look at our guests."

The top floor of the Theatre building had lost half its roof and a portion of the northeast wall when the bombs fell. Gideon had placed camouflage netting over the gaps in the structure which gave him a panoramic view of the surrounding area without fear of detection. The spectacle below was becoming ever more incredible. Super mutants were still streaming in from both the west and from across the river. The crowd below had swelled to several thousand.

"If they attack the Citadel the Brotherhood is finished." said Three Dog gloomily. "There are maybe 200 knights and other fighters in there and maybe the same number of scribes and other members of the order."

"We're missing something." said Maggie. "There's no organization down there. The muties aren't speaking to one another; there's no leader. This isn't a call to arms; it's a spontaneous assembly of creatures who aren't spontaneous and who never assemble."

"Or that's the way it's supposed to look." said Liam.

"Very astute, all of you." said Gideon. Liam felt for a moment that he was being patronized, then realized that a military officer and survivor of two hundred years in the Capital Wasteland might well be worth listening to. He surreptitiously examined the ghoul's hat but was distracted as Gideon began his analysis of the situation.

"What do we know?" the ghoul asked rhetorically. "One, super mutants never congregate in groups of this size, but here they are. Two, they don't like water, but out there we see them swimming the Potomac. Three, when super mutants see a knight in power armor they invariably attack, but these mutants seem to be indifferent to the knights on the walls."

"So we have anomaly piled upon anomaly." Gideon posited.

"We have a pile of Brahmin shit." corrected Sylvia who was becoming comfortable enough to make a contribution to the discussion, such as it was.

As if on cue, Daisy poked her tiny head out from around the corner of the wet bar. Unable to find a way outside she had relieved herself on the floor tiles. Gideon gave a start and then smiled. He hunkered down and gently clapped his hands together capturing the attention of the puppy. Daisy pawed at the tile in a fruitless effort to bury her mess. Then she yapped happily in response to the sound and trotted over to Gideon who picked her up in his arms. "By God, it's a heeler!" the ghoul cried.

"A what?" said Liam.

"A heeler; an Australian Blue Heeler – it's a cattle dog, used for herding animals in Australian before the War. My family had one when I was a lad; never thought I'd see another. Often they'll have different colored eyes, like this little one."

"Heterochromia." said Liam.

"Gesundheit!" Gideon replied.

Ignoring the jest Liam went on "Daniel owns her mother. He normally travels with her, but she has the pups now …." said Liam as he glanced over at Daniel.

Daniel caught the hint and said "Yes, of course. There are several other puppies if you're interested."

Gideon pondered the idea. A pensive look came over him, oddly incongruous given the characteristically wooden rictus that afflicts most ghouls. Finally he smiled and said "A dog may be just what I need. In fact, it might be time for me to take an interest in the broader world again; if we survive the next twenty-four hours that is."

Liam noticed that there was an emblem sewn onto Gideon's hat. It was a gold ribbon with a crown in the middle and a sunburst radiating 180 degrees above the crown. The words on the ribbon read "The Australian Army." There was also a medal that rested on the breast of his armor. It was circular and made of gold-plated silver. It was ensigned with a Crown and sat below a ribbon held in place by a narrow gold bar. The ribbon had a design of alternating light and deep orange chevrons in a series of upside-down 'V's .

"I see from the emblem on your hat that you were in the army." said Liam. "See much action?"

"Some." Gideon replied noncommittally.

"What about the medal?" Liam persisted. He did not want to appear rude, but felt that he had to learn what he could about their host.

"It's just a medal, not all that uncommon." Gideon answered, appearing uncomfortable now.

"Not just any medal, though." said Maggie. She had gone to the wall and was reading from a plaque. "It's the Medal for Gallantry; one of the highest award given in the service to your country and Commonwealth." she said.

"You're not some armchair officer, then." said Liam. It was not a question.

"I saw action in the Resource Wars and the American invasion or the Chinese mainland in '74." he said, confirming Liam's suspicions. "After that I returned to Australia and was assigned to my current posting."

"How do you think we should play our hand?" asked Liam, getting to the point. "You probably have more combat experience than everyone in this room combined. I'm also guessing that you're not defenseless here."

"Quite right." Gideon confirmed. "I have the turrets that you see mounted on the walls and I also have half a dozen robots, a Gutsy, four Sentry Bots and a Robobrain."

"Just enough to slow down the big uglies for about ten minutes." Maggie said.

"I'm afraid so." Gideon admitted.

"What about weapons?" asked Three Dog. "The only thing that might give us a chance is mini nukes."

"No. No nukes. I've seen enough nukes to last me several lifetimes." said Gideon.

"Can I quote you on that?" the DJ queried. The journalist in Three Dog knew a good story when he heard one.

"What about escape?" asked Hanu. The former slave was glancing uneasily at the sea of mutants below. She clearly would have preferred to be anywhere other than where she now found herself.

"I'm afraid I don't have a bolt hole." said Gideon. "Living next to the Brotherhood I never guessed that I'd need one."

"Once evening falls you might be able to sneak out the way we came in." Daniel answered Hanu. "If they see you, though, it seems that they will pursue you – at least until they lose sight of you."

"They'll run you down and toss you in a pot, you fool." said Sylvia, concerned about her fellow captive. "There must be something else we can do."

"There may be something at that." said Liam.

"You have a plan?" asked Maggie.

"Yes, but it's a last resort and I'm not sure how our host will like it." he said, looking in Gideon's direction.

"I'll try to keep an open mind." Gideon said acerbically.

"What's the capacity of the theatre in this building?" Liam asked.

Gideon looked as if he was now wondering if Liam was the madman. Nevertheless he answered "About 4,500."

"How attached are you to your home, Gideon?" Liam continued, more softly this time.

Understanding dawned in the ghoul's eyes and he replied "Very, but I'm even more attached to living. Funny, isn't it? You'd think that after more than 200 years in this hell a man would welcome death. I guess I just got used to being alive."

Liam paused and looked around the room at each of them, one at a time. He said "We mine the building, lure the muties in, jump off the roof and blow the building behind us."

Daniel realized what Liam had in mind immediately and smiled grimly. Three Dog was the first to recover his ability to speak. "You want to elaborate on that part about jumping off the roof? I mean the voice of Galaxy News Radio cannot afford to damage his vocal cords, much less break every bone in his fucking body!"

The others voiced their agreement with varying degrees acrimony and stupefaction. Liam held up his hands.

"Whoa, wait a minute." he said. "I mean we have rope that we can attach to the window casings. We can rappel down the wall when the building fills with mutants. We'll have to put up a fight and retreat into the theatre. We can place the bots and most of the turrets there to keep the mutants attacking. As long as something is shooting at them they'll continue to charge into the building."

"We can't expect to draw all the mutants into the building, said Daniel, but if we rappel down the south wall we might be able to escape in the confusion."

"It's a workable plan." said Gideon. "You won't even have to worry about the placement of the charges. I mapped out the structural load points years ago."

"You anticipated blowing your home up?" asked Maggie.

"Not under precisely these circumstances," he answered, "but when you have a couple of hundred years on your hands you engage in all kinds of speculative behavior."

"This is an unusual building." said Liam. "Do you anticipate any problems?"

"Frankly, I do." Gideon said. "As you no doubt noticed, this structure is essentially one, big hole with a roof overhead. In most buildings you would simply blow out the main load-bearing beams from the inside out and watch the rubble fall in on itself. With a theatre, though, you don't have enough weight over the middle to guarantee that the building will fall at all, much less fall inward."

"So if you aren't precise you could end up with the first floor in the basement and four walls that either fall outward or don't fall at all." Liam said.

Daniel added "In which case you have a few thousand angry super mutants sitting in a hole in the ground."

"Just so." said Gideon. "The exterior walls take almost all of the weight, so they're built quite sturdily. You have to use a lot of explosives, blow the inside edge of the exterior walls first and only then do you explode the outer walls. If you do it properly the walls and the roof fall inward, burying the mutants. Fortunately I've had 150 years to study the blueprints and pinpoint the locations of the charges."

"I wish there was another way, Gideon." said Maggie.

"Oh I don't really mind." he said. "It's just God's way of telling me I need a change in my life. I just have a few keepsakes to pack; Liam and Daniel can start laying the charges. I'll be with you presently."

"How are we going to entice them into the building?" asked Three Dog. "The timing could be tricky. If they come in too quickly, we might be unable to escape; too slowly and most of them could be still outside when we're forced to evacuate."

"If they ever start acting like super mutants again I don't think we'll have a problem with them coming in too slowly." said Gideon, going through boxes of his possessions. "Maybe I'll just go out and moon 'em. If a naked ghoul butt doesn't provoke the bastards I don't know what will."

"Wait." said Maggie, who was trying without success to stifle her laughter. "As appealing as your butt may be, I don't want to hang our chances on it."

"What else can we do?" asked Gideon.

"Does the theatre's sound system still work?" she asked.

"Yes it does." he answered. "I keep it in repair so I can play music on it when the mood strikes. Other times I use the microphones to read Shakespeare in memory of those who lost their lives here. It can get a bit macabre, though; you haven't heard the definitive Puck until you've heard him read by a ghoul.

"My mistress with a monster is in love.

Near to her close and consecrated bower,

While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,

...

I led them on in this distracted fear

And left sweet Pyramus translated there,

When in that moment (so it came to pass)

Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass."

Maggie swallowed what began as a flip comment and remarked only "Yes, that will do nicely. Can some of the speakers be mounted so they face out the windows?"

"Certainly; in fact, there's a small amphitheatre on the north side of the building. There are already speakers in place for the performances they used to put on under the stars in the summer. The wireless microphones will allow us to broadcast from wherever we are standing."

"Then I'll begin recording some insults while Daniel and I are placing the charges." said Liam. "You go ahead and moon the muties; that'll get their attention. Then we'll let the bard incite them to riot."

"I think you're all nuts," said Three Dog, "but if anyone is going to broadcast insults to these super mutants it's going to be the guy who's been insulting them for years on the radio. Just give me a script with a few lines and I guarantee they'll know exactly who's talking to them."

"Sounds like we have a plan." said Daniel as he turned to face Liam. "Shall we set the charges?"

They marched into the bowels of the building, blueprints in hand.

………………….

"I don't care if it's a lie, Reginald; just tell the troops that Daniel Cole is on the way." Owen Lyons was exasperated. He and his oldest friend, Scribe Reginald Rothchild stood atop the southern wall of the Citadel and scanned the sea of super mutants that continued to swell. He wondered when they would crash against the walls of the fortress and whether their assault would break them down.

"I'll send word along the ramparts and to the personnel below, Elder." Rothchild said formally. There was something heartening in receiving orders and passing them along to men and women who would follow them without question. It reminded everyone that their training and loyalty were second to none and that whatever the odds, hope could never be lost, it could only be abandoned.

The fact that the mutants hadn't attacked yet should have been reassuring; in fact it was a double-edged sword. A man or woman didn't become a fighter for the Brotherhood of Steel without a deep well of aggressiveness. However thoroughly it might be subordinated to the greater good, the fact remains that once an evil is identified most knights relish a good fight. On the other hand, there were just so many of them. Glory was good in the abstract, but all other things being equal the defenders would have preferred a battle in which the odds were at least somewhat even. These were brave men and women, but they were not fools. These weren't the 300 Spartans on the wall; the super mutants below were not the Persians at Thermopylae.

"And I'm no Leonidas." thought Lyons. "I'm just an old man whose time may finally have come."

His daughter Sarah had fought her way into the fortress before the super mutant numbers grew to the point where further reinforcement was impossible. "Why did you have to come?" he thought, immediately rejecting the emotion. Sarah was a warrior; where else would she be when everything she has ever known was under threat of annihilation?

Still, she was his daughter, his only child and heir apparent to the leadership of the Eastern Brotherhood. A man could be forgiven his love for his child, his … hope for a miracle.

………………….

"New guy! Front and center!" Sarah Lyons wasn't good with names; she didn't have time for them. If a new member of the Pride lasted for a month, then she'd bother learning his name; otherwise it was just wasted effort.

"Farrell, ma'am. Initiate Sean Farrell reporting for duty, ma'am."

"You're replacing two good soldiers, Farrell – Reddin and Jennings." Lyons informed him in her clipped, military manner. "We're short of personnel right now and you've been recommended by both Paladin Kodiak and Scribe Bowditch. That's unusual, Initiate; are you a secret Scribe? Are you sure you wouldn't rather be repairing power armor?"

"No ma'am. I'm here to fight." Farrell said.

"Well, that's the right answer at least." Lyons replied. "How old are you, Farrell?"

"Twenty or so, ma'am."

"You don't know your own birthday?" she asked.

"No ma'am. I was … left at the Citadel when I was a baby. I guess my parents didn't think they could take care of me. I never knew them and I'm not sure exactly how old I was when I got here." the young man answered.

Lyons looked up from her work and made a mental note to ask her father about the kid. He was young but very promising, at least according to the reports. Tall and athletic, he had a long, intelligent face with deep, seemingly unfocused brown eyes.

"Hell of a time to join the Pride, Farrell." she said. "But if you're sure this is what you want go see Bowditch and pick up your armor."

"Yes ma'am!" he said with determination. He left at a jog.

Lyons shook her head and went back to work.

………………….

"How long before we turn 'em loose, LT?" Enclave Gunnery Sergeant Edward "Gunny" Mitchell continued to peer out the porthole as he addressed his superior – a technical breach of protocol, but no one was interested in protocol at the moment.

"Why, are you in some kind of hurry, Gunny?" The reason Lieutenant Vernon Tubbs wasn't interested in protocol was because he was staring out the porthole next to the one his subordinate was using. What he saw was enough to capture his undivided attention.

"Yes sir! Damn right, sir! Can't wait to see the Citadel torn down to its foundations, sir!" the man replied. Then he added "I wouldn't mind getting the fuck out of here either, sir." Then more quietly, "I've got nine years in, LT; I've never seen anything like this before."

"Me either, Gunny; me either." the Lieutenant affirmed.

"We'll 'turn 'em loose', as you so colorfully describe it Sergeant, just as soon as Command tells us to. In the meantime I suggest that you spend less time running your mouth and more time watching out for trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, Major, perfectly clear." said Mitchell. Under his breath he said "Blow it out your ass, Major Doctor D'Urberville."

The lieutenant looked obliquely at his Gunny. He saw that the doctor hadn't heard the sotto voce remark and let out his breath. He and Mitchell were Hellfire Troopers. They received the best training, the best armor and the best weapons. Even among the Hellfire there were elite troops. Mitchell and Tubbs were members of the Black Watch. This meant that after having all that Enclave money thrown at them in the form of training and equipment, these men had gone out and actually exceeded Enclave expectations.

Meeting and then exceeding what is expected of you is no mean feat when it comes to the Enclave. Edward Mitchell had been capturing Deathclaws for the past three years. He was one of the few men to survive so long on an assignment that normally ended in the death of its members within the first month. "And this is my reward." he thought.

The irony was that he had asked for this job. Normally, a detail providing assistance and protection to the scientists of the Enclave was a soft assignment. His duties sometimes required him to accompany the scientists into the field. Field work could be dicey, but the Enclave normally was loath to expose their technical people to extreme hazards. Unfortunately for his team, Mitchell thought, these were hardly normal times.

The Enclave has been almost completely run out of the Capital Wasteland by the Brotherhood of Steel. Their main base at Raven Rock as well as their fallback positions at Adams Air Force Base and the Satellite Relay Station had been overrun by the technologically inferior Brotherhood. The most galling aspect of the situation was that it had been entirely unnecessary. Augustus Autumn had seen an opportunity to exercise political control over the Wasteland by seizing and completing Project Purity. He had been overruled by the President, ZAX AI John Henry Eden. Eden had planned to deploy the same lethal strain of the FEV that former president Richardson had ordered developed at the Mariposa Military Base.

The only difference between the two strains was that the west coast version was airborne while the strain that President Eden wanted to add to Project Purity was liquid-based. Mitchell knew he was no Stanislaus Braun but couldn't they see that a liquid toxin introduced at the mouth of a river was unlikely to infect the intended population? Sure, there would be a number of casualties, but as soon as word spread that the water from Project Purity was lethal the inhabitants of the Capital Wasteland would return to whatever they had been drinking before the Project came online.

Meanwhile, Doctor D'Urberville's Synthetic Telepathy project flew under the radar, all but ignored by the upper echelon of the Enclave until the catastrophic events of the past few months forced a frantic re-evaluation his work.

The man was an asshole, no doubt about it. He had all the tact of a feral and none of the charm. "That's no way to get your project approved by the higher-ups." Mitchell thought. You need to play the political game, not show disdain for anyone who can't understand 11-dimensional M-theory or manipulate nucleotide bases using DNA sequencing and bioinformatics. No, the mad doctor was a desperate last resort and damned if he hadn't come through.

Mitchell didn't understand the science, or even the broad strokes of the concepts. He just knew that there were two steps involved: first get the mutants to mass in one location using electronic signals, and second, get them to attack using chemical stimulants. Simple, right? Well it was scientific mumbo-jumbo to him, but at least the LT could follow the doc – up to a point. Tubbs was smart. He knew exactly what D'Urberville was doing and more importantly, he knew when the Major was on solid ground and when he was flying by the seat of his pants.

The Major – all the Enclave doctors were at least captains – was prone to going off on tangents when something struck his fancy. Lieutenant Tubbs was chosen for his scientific expertise as much as for his combat experience. D'Urberville didn't like having a technical babysitter, but he was stuck with the LT and made the best of it, employing Tubbs as a lab assistant whenever the LT would have it.

After weeks of frantic work getting the boat fitted with the necessary equipment, testing it for bugs and installing redundant backup systems, the six-man crew found itself with nothing to do but wait. It might have given them a well-deserved chance to catch up on their sleep had the boat been anchored anywhere but 100 yards off the shore of the Potomac River with several thousand super mutants milling around within earshot. As it was, Tubbs was taking the opportunity to educate Mitchell on the scientific parameters of the project.

"Everyone knows that the Vault 87 strain of the FEV makes for less intelligent super mutants, but also bigger and stronger super mutants." the Lieutenant was saying.

"Um hum. Of course. Everyone knows that." Mitchell said, keeping a straight face.

Tubbs grinned. He knew that Mitchell was no dummy. He had just learned, in the best military tradition, to keep what he knew to himself lest he be called upon to put his knowledge to use. That meant more work and there was already more than enough work to do.

"The reason the mutants are so stupid" Tubbs continued, "is that the Vault 87 FEV deteriorates the anterior frontal lobe of the brain – the area responsible for higher cognitive functions and the development of personality. Less well-known is that the posterior frontal lobe and the parietal lobe behind it become highly sensitized as the anterior counterpart devolves."

"Damned parietal lobe. It's always the problem." Mitchell deadpanned.

Tubbs was undisturbed by the sarcasm; he knew Mitchell was following his explanation. If he didn't, he'd ask Tubbs to rephrase. That was Mitchell's way.

"The posterior frontal lobe controls motor function and the parietal lobe contains the primary sensory cortex." Then he explained the heart of the matter. "The upshot is that the super mutants created by the Vault 87 FEV are particularly susceptible to external stimuli, especially electronic stimuli. The Enclave, and the US government before us, worked to develop methods of control that use electronic energy sources."

"Right." said Mitchell, finally allowing his interest to show. "That's what our researchers call "Synthetic Telepathy."

"Exactly." said Tubbs. "It describes the beaming of words, thoughts, or ideas into a person's mind by mechanical means, specifically, some type of electromagnetic transmitter, similar to a radio broadcast, operating in the microwave frequency band. The beauty of Doctor D'Urberville's project is that you don't need to put any kind of complex ideas into their heads; they couldn't process them in any case."

"All you need to do is to broadcast a destination, not in the sense of 'Go south for 10 miles', but only on a directional line." he continued. "The super mutants can sense when they're going in the correct direction because the signal becomes stronger."

"The doctor spent years experimenting with the correct frequencies and signal strengths. He finally settled on flooding the airways with microwave signals between 1310 MHz and 2982 MHz at an average power density of 0.4 to 2.0 mW/cm2. Just about every super mutant in the Capital Wasteland is susceptible to the signals. The only two requirements to hear the microwave-induced sounds are good bone conduction and the ability to hear acoustic energy above 5 kHz."

"Piece of cake." Mitchell exhaled. His concentration on the explanation was such that for a moment he'd forgotten to breathe.

"If only." replied Tubbs.

"So we threw a party. The guests are here and they're having a good time. How do we get them to burn down the neighbor's house?" asked Mitchell tartly.

"That's where the chemical end of the control process comes into play." said Tubbs.

"So that's why we have these tanks with nozzles – to disperse the chemicals." Mitchell surmised.

"That's right." confirmed Tubbs. "They're a potent combination of neurotransmitters, steroids and protein pheromones to suppress and later to stimulate the production of various neurotransmitters. Right now we're pumping out neural suppressants – a mixture of serotonin and testosterone-inhibiting drugs. When H.Q. decides it's time to act, we'll change tanks to release testosterone and a blend of various glucocorticoids to stimulate aggression and prevent the re-uptake of aggression inhibitors."

"And we're doing this from a boat because the prevailing winds at this time of year come from the east." guessed Mitchell.

"Yes, it's a local effect of our proximity to Chesapeake Bay." said Tubbs. "It works to our advantage. If the winds were variable we'd be constantly changing our location. We'd probably have to be onshore, too. We have to get pretty close to our, um, subjects for the drugs to be effective. At least here we have half the river between us and the mutants."

"Once we open these other tanks," said Tubbs, gesturing to the second array of high-pressure cylinders, "the mutants will attack anything they see. If we've gotten the dosage wrong they may even attack one another."

"That would be quite a coup for the Brotherhood." said Mitchell. "We'd be in big trouble with the high command."

"We'd be dead." replied Tubbs. "The high command doesn't tolerate failure of that magnitude. No, we have to release the gas and then ensure that the mutants go after the Citadel. We may have to regulate the flow if they appear either too passive or too aggressive."

"Wonderful." said Mitchell dryly. "I thought we could just turn on the nozzle jets, hop into the raft and wait for a Vertibird to pick us up. Now you're telling me that we have to babysit a few thousand super mutants to be sure that they don't play nicely with others?"

"That's the gist of it, yes." said Tubbs. "Welcome to the rabbit hole."

………………….

Note: The dialog in which Owen Lyons tells Scribe Rothchild to tell the troops that the Lone Wanderer was on his way in order to boost morale and despite the fact that it may be a lie was a much-appreciated suggestion from Lord Kain, author of several stories on .