In front of the Brotherhood field team, a meadow of wildflowers and grasses spread out like a gentle and placid sea, rippling softly in the breeze, which was still clean scented from the previous night's storm. There were a few puddles here and there which reflected the blue and white sky,
"That's a sight I don't think I'll ever get tired of," Paladin Danse remarked, nodding in approval.
"I agree, sir," Haylen said, with her whole heart. "I'll map the coordinates for the Botany team."
"Feh," Knight Rhys scoffed under his breath.
"You have a problem with that, soldier?" Danse had heard Rhys.
"That's it, sir. We are soldiers, or we're supposed to be. Instead, what have we been doing for the last six weeks? Babysitting scribes while they count how many blades of grass they find in every square inch of ground—when we're not going on replenishment runs. We should be taking the fight to the supermutants, wiping out feral nests, burning down bandit camps—and most of all, searching for synths and finding the location of the Institute!" Rhys turned his head, hawked up some spit, and sent it flying onto the ground.
"What a soldier does is follow orders, Knight Rhys," Danse replied. "While your words fringe on insubordination, I recognize the feelings which inspire them. Which is why I am not going to issue you an official reprimand, just a verbal warning. No more of that kind of talk. Scribe Haylen, are we near the coordinates for the farm we're looking for?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, "and I have what I need for Botany. The flowers are clover and the grasses, ryegrass."
"Then let's move out." The three continued their hike along the cracked and ravaged road. Part of the reason they were doing simple missions like replenishment runs and guard duty was because Rhys' leg was still healing, so they were walking at a pace of about two miles an hour. She understood Rhys' frustration, although his attitude was doing a lot to drive out any remaining infatuation she harbored for him.
"Sir, may I talk to you about something?" she ventured in Danse's direction a quarter of a mile later.
"Of course, Scribe. What is it?"
"You'll recall that the mandate to find and recruit the unknown botanist, the one who makes the syringe darts from prewar plants, is still active," she began.
"It is," Danse nodded.
"We're also finding more and more plants all over the Commonwealth. Even young trees sometimes, like that jingo, I mean gingko tree." The discovery of a tree which not only withstood radiation, but thrived on it, had been the latest in a series of amazing discoveries. Senior Scribe Neriah had briefed the team shortly before they left the Prydwen.
"True. We live in a time of wonders," her superior said.
"Maybe the two are connected," she said. "The way the Brotherhood is talking about these discoveries, it's like the earth was doing this to celebrate Elder Maxon's arrival—I'm not being disrespectful of our Leader, sir, truly I'm not—but as great a leader as he is, he's still only a man. The elements and natural forces don't bow down to him or anyone else."
Haylen took a deep breath and went on. "Suppose the botanist is also spreading seeds and plants across the Commonwealth. Whoever it is has access to prewar plants, we know that. They have the skills and the knowledge. It seems more likely to me that they're responsible."
"Hmm," Danse vocalized. "Why would they be doing this?"
"Because it's the right thing to do. Because hoarding it all to themselves is shortsighted. Replanting the Commonwealth makes a real difference not just for today or next year, but for generations to come."
"Hmm," he repeated. "Do you have any evidence to back up your theory?"
"That field back there," she pointed. "Clover absorbs nitrogen from the air and fixes it in the soil, enriching it. The ryegrass prevents erosion and stabilizes soil, so it doesn't wash away in storms like the one last night. Both are good food for cattle and rad-deer, Senior Scribe Neriah said so. Farmers used to plant them together for just that reason. It's too much of a coincidence to find them growing there now."
"There's your answer," Danse said. "Prewar, that was a farmer's field. Either the seeds or the plants survived."
"It isn't just that one single field, sir. It's all of it put together," she spread her arms out.
"Scribe Haylen…". He let the statement trail off. "I see your point. But without something that points to an exceptionally generous and determined individual—or several of them—it's easier to believe this is natural and random."
She nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Then until we find convincing proof, this discussion is tabled. Now, what's the name of this place we're going, again?"
"Somerville Place. The notes say there's a family of five living there—mother, father, and three children, one an infant," she reported.
Along the way, they dealt with several stingwings and a small group of supermutants. Then there was a surprisingly tough raider defacing a statue, and after that, the homestead.
The storm looked to have done some serious damage to the roof of their house, as both the parents were out there looking up at a huge hole in it. The woman had a baby on her shoulder, and she was doing a little dance from foot to foot.
Suddenly two children dashed up, the boy hollering, "Dad! Mom! The trees got taller overnight! I can't even touch the top of them now!"
The parents turned to look at their children and saw the Brotherhood of Steel team members. Immediately both stiffened up, the woman stepping closer to her husband.
Haylen only half-noticed that, however, as her attention was drawn by, first of all, the turrets and barricades which bordered the property, second by the Minutemen flag which flew over the field, and third, by the green shoots of the crop which was coming up.
"Look," Mr. Somerville began. "My name is Tom. This is my wife Maggie. Our daughter's name is Judy, and our older boy is Jack. The baby's Joshua Rainier. And you are?"
"Paladin Danse, Brotherhood of Steel. Knight Rhys and Senior Scribe Haylen." Danse indicated each in turn.
"Paladin," the man nodded. "We don't want any trouble with you. When your people came by last, we gave them what they asked for, though we could scarcely spare it. Since then, though, we had supermutants attack. What they didn't steal, they spoiled. We had to eat the seed corn to make it through the lean months. If it weren't for the generosity of a friend and the help of our neighbors and the Minutemen, we would have had nothing to plant and no way of building up the defenses.
"Until this year's crops come in, we cannot give you anything. Not food, nor ammo, nor caps. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."
Rhys began, "That isn't good enough," but since he wasn't in power armor, Haylen could kick him in the ankle.
"That isn't necessary," she told the farmer and her team mates both. It looks like the storm did a lot of damage to your roof. How about if the menfolk—." She almost gagged on the word. "work on that while your wife and I do the picking up indoors?"
Danse and Rhys looked at her as though she had lost her mind. "Can I have a word with you, sir?" she hissed at Danse through her teeth. "I can explain."
"Very well, Scribe."
They moved to the edge of the property, where she said. "Sir. Look at the crops. They're not only green, they don't look like anything I have ever seen before. These people are frightened. If we demand to know what they're growing and where it came from, they'll clam up. If we set their minds at ease, they'll relax and tell us."
The confusion cleared from his face and he nodded. "Good thinking, Haylen. We'll do that. However—Rhys, there look to be mirelurks down by the water. I bet some fresh crab meat would help ease these people's burden."
"Right," Rhys said, almost happily. Haylen nodded to herself as he headed down to the swamp. Fighting mirelurks was no joke and it would fulfil his need for action.
Meanwhile, there was work to be done.
A/N: So….it's been a couple of years. However, I have noticed that people are still reading and favoriting and following this story, so I hope you will enjoy this!