A/N: The biochemically savvy reader will probably realize that I'm talking about gene therapy with the serum. The retrovirus doesn't actually contain an enzyme, it contains RNA that codes for that enzyme. Targeted host cells will then be "tricked" into writing DNA from the RNA, incorporating it into their genome, and generating the enzyme themselves.

There are lots of reasons why this doesn't usually work for treating genetic diseases, but hey, these are radiation-mediated mutations we're talking about, and I'm writing Video Game Science here. ;)

23

"Don't you want to take it to the Brotherhood?" I said. "I know why I don't, but I'm interested in your reasons."

"It is harmless to ordinary humans," said Fawkes. "It will probably kill Meta-Humans. And it will transform Ghouls back into smoothskins. Under those circumstances, I suspect they will replicate it and attempt to distribute it as widely as possible. Probably through the water supply. That was John Henry Eden's plan for his modified virus."

"Yeah," I said. "That's kind of what I thought, too. You mind losing your cut of the money, Three?"

Three snorted and folded his arms. I took this to mean no.

"Then I'm not sure what to do with it either," I said. "Anybody we give it to has to be able to make more of it, or there's no point. And that's not going to be just anybody if it's got retrowhatsits and enzymes, like you said. Otherwise I'd give it to Carol and Greta without a second thought. They'd only use it on people who wanted to change back. The problem with that, even if they could make more – and the Doc at the Chop Shop maybe could – is that once word gets out, other people will be after it."

"The Brotherhood of Steel might possibly be able to keep the process for the serum's creation a secret," said Fawkes. "There are few others of whom that is true."

"Yeah. That's a... good... point..." I stared at them both, struck. "Uh, Fawkes? Did you say that thing has some kind of virus in it?"

"An enzyme generated by a tailored RNA strand delivered by a retrovirus," said Fawkes.

"Yeah," I said. "You know why Ghouls don't catch colds?"

"Colds?" said Three.

"For the same reason I do not," said Fawkes. "Both Ghoul and Meta-Human DNA is somewhat unlike ordinary DNA, and neither Ghouls nor Meta-Humans are reluctant to expose themselves to radiation. Radiation is lethal to a great many pathogens."

"You mean rads kill viruses," I said.

"Yes."

"So if it wasn't for Project Purity, you could drop this serum stuff in the water all day and it wouldn't do a thing to anybody," I said.

"That is likely," said Fawkes. "But Project Purity did take place."

"Yeah," I said. "But what if that info got around before the BOS had time to make a big batch of this stuff? Word travels fast and they'd need some time, wouldn't they?"

"They would," said Fawkes.

"So all anybody's got to do is irradiate their water before they drink it for a while. It wouldn't take long to collect up enough radioactive crud from the D.C. Underground to make that easy, especially in Underworld where leaky rads can't hurt anybody."

"That would not prevent the deaths of a large number of Meta-Humans," said Fawkes quietly. "I have seldom found them other than intolerant and violent, but I would not see them all killed for that."

"You're right," I said slowly. "Eventually the survivors would wise up and start hanging out around radiation, too, but that would be too late for a lot of them. If we told them, would they pass it along?"

"I think so," said Fawkes. "They do communicate among themselves."

"So we'd have to find a way to tell them, too," I said.

"Thistle," said Three, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, Three," I said.

"You ggggive this to gary the Brotherhood. They gggknow what garygary you know. Then what?"

"Ah," I said. "You mean if we hand this over, they might be inclined to muzzle us in order to prevent exactly what we're talking about."

Three nodded. "Muzzle," he said, and smiled the tight little smile that meant something not-very-funny was happening.

"I do not think they would attempt to kill me," said Fawkes. "I've found them to be true to their agreements, once made. And they are aware of the personnel cost that would entail."

"Depends on whether they're laying for us when we come back," I said. "Seems like they wouldn't have let you outbid Jay if they knew we were after this stuff, though. He wouldn't have been able to read the lab books. Probably wouldn't have tried. He'd just download all the stuff in the computer and haul it back, same as I would if I was alone."

"I suggest we communicate what we need to communicate before we return to the Brotherhood," Fawkes said. "If we give them what we have and leave before they are able to read the full reports, they probably will not try to stop us. And if they do – it will be too late."

"Right," I said. "Makes sense." I looked around at the inside of the lab thoughtfully. "I'll be sorry to leave. I kind of like it here. It's homey, you know?"

"And defensible," said Fawkes. We looked at each other. I pictured the single entrance with its heavy round door. The vault was buried in the side of the gully, under tons of earth and stone. And the creek began and ended down here. Anybody who wanted to poison it would have to do it from down here in the weeds.

"They could dig us out, given time and heavy enough artillery," I said. "But I bet it won't be worth their trouble."

"Not with so little to gain, and... a high personnel cost," said Fawkes. He grinned down at me and Three. I grinned back.

"What do you say, Three?" I asked him. "You can still sleep outside the door, if you want."

Three looked at me. "Where you go," he said, and bit off a couple of silent syllables. "I go."

"No opinion?" I said.

"Gary," said Three, by way of indicating that was his last word on the subject.

"Okay," I said. Then I looked at him again, struck by a thought. "That Gary thing, and all the rest of it. That's because you're a clone, right? Is it because of a mutation?"

One corner of Three's mouth twitched. He shook his head. "Not because of a mutation. Bad gary copy. Grown wrong."

I looked at Fawkes.

"I believe he means that the problem is developmental as well as genetic," said Fawkes. Three nodded. "The serum would not change the abnormal arrangement of his mind and memories. That is irrevocable. The serum would shorten his life, as it would yours, but with no visible benefits."

At least the last sentence of this made sense. "Okay," I said. "So how much of the stuff is here?"

"Roughly a liter," said Fawkes. "Enough for perhaps five subjects of human size. It will have to be administered over a period of time to have a lasting effect."

"So they'll have to make a lot of it, even if we give them all we've got," I said.

"Yes. The retrovirus is robust enough to remain viable at a wide variety of temperatures."

"Which means?"

"It will travel well."

"I see," I said. I thought about this. "What if we don't give them any? Will they still be able to make their own from the formulas?"

"Possibly," said Fawkes. "There are aspects in which reverse engineering of the serum would be easier than acting from the laboratory documentation."

"Okay. Well, I don't see any reason not to give them all of it. It's going to be all over the place soon enough."

"Agreed," said Fawkes. "That being the case, shall we eat?"

"Gary," agreed Three, sniffing.

"Okay," I said. "Let's see what Massingbird has for us."

Massingbird, as it turned out, was quite a cook – and he'd taken notice of Fawkes's size when he started work, too. I helped carry some of the resulting collection of empty plates back to the kitchen from the entry room. We'd mostly eaten with our fingers, Fawkes out of necessity and me because I felt like it and Massingbird had assured me he had plenty more gloves. I'm not sure Three had ever learned to use silverware.

"Did the others eat in there?" I asked the robot as I shut the dishwasher. It was going to take a couple of runs to get all the plates through.

"Sometimes," said Massingbird. "There is a larger table in storage for special occasions. While they were working, the Drs. Gunderson were apt to prefer a sandwich in the laboratory."

"Well, thanks a lot," I said. "We're thinking of coming back here after we've done what we need to do. Would that be okay with you?"

"You buried the Drs. Gunderson," said Massingbird in his stiff-jawed, emotionless voice. "And Mr. Lamont and Mr. Baring."

"Yeah," I said. "I piled rocks over the graves, if you want to go and look at them some time. Didn't really have a way to make a headstone for them."

"That will not be necessary," said Massingbird. "As far as I'm concerned, you are welcome to return at any time. The changes Mr. Lamont made to my programming instilled a set of interactional parameters that occasionally interfere with my functionality if I am isolated and aware for long periods."

I digested this for a second, listening to the hum of the dishwasher. "You mean you get lonely?" I said.

"I suppose that term is as good as any," said Massingbird. "I can only look upon it as a mercy that he ordered me to power down before he took his own life. It would have been very... lonely in here for a hundred years."

"He must've cared about you," I said.

"I would like to think so," said Massingbird. A small sensor array rotated to face me on top of the sphere that served him as both body and head. "You are very curious about them."

"I looked at the Gundersons' diaries earlier," I admitted. "Just the last couple of entries. It's hard to see the people who wrote those as the same as the things I buried. Same with Terry Lamont's note. It makes me wonder what they were like."

"Perhaps if you return, we will discuss it further," said Massingbird. If.

"Sure," I said. "When we get back."