March 12, 2288
It was cramped in Maxson's quarters, full of proctors and officers and Railroad agents. There wasn't enough space around his small table for all of them but those who couldn't sit stood and stared down at the crude diagram of Bunker Hill laid out before them.
An aerial map had been drawn up by Quinlan after hours in the air. It was too risky to hover, to alert the Institute and give themselves away, so he'd ridden with patrols as they shipped out to various corners of the wasteland, passing over the settlement repeatedly until he'd been able to sketch it in its entirety. Vertibirds, while utterly terrifying in Nora's opinion, were not without their uses.
Kells leaned over the table, fingers splayed near the edge. "We can send troops in from the back entrance and have power armor units drop straight in from overhead."
"There's no guarantee they won't just manifest by the hatch," Desdemona challenged.
Nora nodded, eyes frantically working over the paper. "We need heavies inside from the jump."
"Ten of our men, as well," Maxson offered. "We can ship them out tonight to ensure they're prepared for the onslaught."
The congeniality between the elder and Nora was still alarming, just as unusual as it had been when he'd first suggested they fight alongside one another. She caught his eye and gave him what barely constituted as a smile, just a small twitch of cracked lips that he mimicked. "Dez, send word to Deacon to have several teams ready to fly out tonight. Full caravan costume and more for the soldiers."
Desdemona disappeared without a word. It was still uncomfortable, keeping up appearances and ordering her around. It hadn't been the plan to mislead the Brotherhood as to their hierarchy but correcting their mistake seemed like passing up a perfectly good opportunity. They knew less than they thought about their allies and it wouldn't bother Nora, hadn't, but Arthur had extended his assistance and he was proving to be a better man than the caricature of him that circulated the wastes. Guilt flared in her gut and she washed it down with whiskey, refocusing her mind to the task at hand.
Beside her, Danse stopped pacing and stepped toward the table. "We need to evacuate the civilians."
Maxson shook his head. "To do so this early would be too big a tell. A mass exodus will be obvious."
"I understand but-"
"Tomorrow."
Danse swallowed his protests and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"In the disguises the Railroad has, agents can help to help ready the inhabitants. Get their things packed up and ready to run," Nora suggested.
Maxson hesitated and it was then that she realized the consequences of living aboard an airship near the edge of the Commonwealth. It was far easier to accept countless graves as collateral damage when he wasn't on the ground day after day working with the settlers and building relationships. He wasn't from here, didn't intend to stay, and if he wasn't careful, he'd leave a mess in his wake.
"That may work," he muttered.
"It will. We have to do something."
"I'm interested in what we're gonna do with the escaped synths afterwards." Teagan shot a glare at Nora from his seat near the door. "I can get behind using them as Institute bait but then what? We just let 'em go?"
Nora twisted in her seat to star daggers at him. "Don't get your fair share of killing in your glorified prison?"
He chuckled and narrowed his eyes. "Not that it would qualify as killing if it's a machine. More like dismantling."
"Biology is hard, isn't it?"
"One day, someone's gonna shut you up."
"Proctor," Arthur chided.
Nora jumped to her feet. "God damnit, try something then. Lay a finger on anyone affiliated with the Railroad or one of our synths and I promise to put you out of your misery."
"Woah there," Ingram cautioned, leaning into the fray.
"That mouth ever do anything besides talk smart?"
Her blade was out and stabbed into the table beside his wrist before anyone could stop her. "Sick bast-"
"That's enough!" Maxson stepped forward like he might restrain Nora but Danse was already subduing the seething woman. He waved a hand toward the door. "Ingram. Quinlan. Take Teagan elsewhere. We'll address this incident at a later time."
The proctors complied, one behind Teagan and one in front to prevent him from lurching back and escalating the situation.
"I apologize. Proctor Teagan has a tendency to speak without thinking."
He was in good company, then, with the Brotherhood. He acted no differently than the others did, unashamed and self-righteous. A culture Maxson was responsible for even if he didn't partake. But there was strategy in censorship and Nora knew better than to think now was the time for heated accusations.
"As per our agreement, your synths won't be harmed."
She pulled her weapon from where it pierced his table and slipped it back into her boot. "Gracious of you."
Kells grabbed a pencil to mark the plans they'd made thus far on the map as the atmosphere calmed, the animosity draining from the air as the distance between her and the proctor increased. It should've set Nora at ease. She should've been surer of Arthur Maxson and his ideals and his promise should've appeased her.
But it was too much. Sitting in a room of steel, sheltered and secure, when there were countless people below whose fates were unknowingly being determined by every decision they made. War could not be contained. It wasn't possible to limit the devastation, to take it on themselves and sacrifice the willing in the place of innocents, of children and families. She looked to Danse, saw the same thoughts written on his face, the same affliction carved there in the form of lips pulled taut and eyes creased in distress. She knew they'd both had too many years of their hands in the fire, on the front lines of the war for the future, for either to be any less than disgusted by the price they were sure must be paid. His eyes met hers, pools of liquid brown too soft to be Brotherhood, and the moment was one not unlike a corner tucked away in Rivet City.
She heard her own voice and the way her words slurred together but she needed an answer. "Why did you join the Brotherhood?"
"I just... this can't be it," he began. "The people in the wasteland are suffering and if I don't do anything... if I stay here and scrounge to get by..."
Like me, she thought. Cut from the same cloth. The bombs couldn't have stolen every ounce of goodness from the world and people like them wouldn't let it be ripped away without fighting tooth and nail. How she had found him by accident, pure chance, she didn't know. S he climbed off of him and rested her head against his neck and his fingers ran through her hair, chest rumbling under her when she pressed herself closer.
It was already more than she'd ever had and more than she could stand to lose.
The memory was unbidden and knocked the breath from her. Danse or Paladin Danse, there were pieces of him left uninfected by doctrine and allegiance. Her pieces, she thought, a claim staked long ago. Still hers to this day, the way his eyes roamed her face and a light blush colored his cheeks.
She turned away first to the stony gaze of the elder and he hadn't missed their exchange. Nora forged ahead, unflinching, frightened by nothing and no one because she'd been to hell and back. She'd survived the Institute once and would do it again and whether it was her son being threatened or what little piece of bliss she'd found with Maxson's soldier, she was ready to fight.
She raised an eyebrow. A dare. "Ad victoriam, elder."