A/N: One of the things that makes FO3 work so well as a post-apocalyptic game is that the dead are more real than the living. Voice recordings and written journals and memos, skeletons with teddy bears and dusty soda bottles on desks – it's a world full of 200-year-old bodies that no one has ever buried and 200-year-old stories that no one has ever told. Personal histories are everywhere for the player to read and prized possessions are left behind to find and use. I hope I'm getting a little of that across with the story of the Gundersons, Terry and Jarod. It's this atmosphere of sadness and strange glimpses of departed joy among the violent horrors that makes FO3 not a good game, but a great one.

25

"I didn't hear anything," I said, reaching for my boots. I was sleeping in some stripey cotton things that had belonged to Terry. Three had all his clothes on.

"Sound does not carry well through the seal," said Massingbird. "Which, fortunately, is still engaged as per my evening security routine. I installed a transmitter in the turret which matches one of my onboard receivers. Her communication, while somewhat dull, is quite clear. There are three individuals in powered armor outside in the gully."

"Shooting?" I said. Wait, her communication?

"Not currently. The turret informs me that they have thus far heeded her verbal warnings and remain back out of range. You will probably have time to change your clothing if you wish."

"Oh," I said. "Good. Thanks, Massingbird."

Three padded out as I went to get my jeans and shirt. Massingbird stayed in the doorway while I changed. I didn't mind. I'm not particularly shy and anyway, why shouldn't a robot look at a Ghoul?

"So the turret can give verbal warnings now?" I said. "Did you program that thing with an AI?"

"Not precisely," said Massingbird as I started buttoning buttons. "I uploaded one created by Mr. Lamont. I understand it was originally intended for me. He developed the more sophisticated aspects of my programming over several years."

"And now the turret is a she," I said.

"Arbitrarily. Gender has no more meaning for her than it has for me. That is how she chooses to refer to herself."

"Does she have a name?" I asked. I was tying up my bootlaces now. "I'm going to feel kind of bad if the BOS guys blow her up."

"Oh, no need to worry about Craft," said Massingbird. A round light shone yellow on one surface of his head as he rotated. "She has so far been cooperative in following my instructions to perform regular backups. The mainframe in storage is entirely adequate to the purpose."

"There's a what in storage?"

"Perhaps we might more conveniently discuss it later," said Massingbird. I grabbed my rifle and headed for the door. He floated into the hallway, out of the way.

"Good point."

Fawkes and Three were waiting in the entry room. Fawkes still wore the gat. (He's still wearing it as I type this, sitting here at the computer in Terry and Jarod's room. I've never seen him take it off. Now he's saying that readiness is all, which sounds like a quote but I can't tell from what.)

"So they did come after us," I said.

"Gary," said Three darkly. He stared at the round door as if he could see through it, though I doubted there was much he could do to men in full power armor.

"I doubt they want us specifically," said Fawkes heavily. "It is more likely that they wish to insure we did not withold any more research of the Drs. Gunderson."

"And instead they're getting a crash course in the robotics of Jarod Lamont," I said. "Serves them right. Is there any way we can talk to them without opening the door, Massingbird?"

"I regret that I have not yet had time to install a vocal transmission system," he said. "I can, however, relay messages to and from Craft."

"And she'll tell them to the guys outside?" I said.

"Yes, Madam."

"Okay, tell them this. My name is Thistle. I live here. What do you want?"

Massingbird hovered in place for a second, humming to himself.

"We need to search this vault," he relayed after a second, in an accent very different from his usual – I guessed it belonged to the Brotherhood knight who was speaking. He even managed to get across the flattening and distortion from the powered helmet.

"Tell me what you want," I said. "Maybe I'll give it to you."

There was a pause. "They seem to be talking among themselves," Massingbird said. "Craft indicates there is some profanity being exchanged. She finds it amusing. I fear her sense of humor is somewhat questionable."

"They've got kind of a dilemma," I said. "They might be able to kill Craft, but they can't break down that door. Not with anything three of them could be carrying." That's what I thought of it as, killing Craft. I couldn't imagine something that wasn't a person having a questionable sense of humor. "I wonder if they know Fawkes is in here?"

"I suspect so, Madam," said Massingbird. After a moment he said in a slightly different voice, "We know you're a Ghoul. Would you like to be normal again? We have a cure."

I smiled, even though they couldn't see it. "I helped bring you the damn cure. You know what a Hayflick Limit is?"

"Craft reports considerably more profanity," said Massingbird, after relaying this. "And assorted colorful phrases of an anatomical nature. The first speaker is reprimanding the second for making a foolish suggestion."

"I bet," I said. "They can't possibly be carrying enough caps on them to make it worth our while. They've got nothing to bargain with except threats. I'm not saying I want to stay inside here for the next hundred years - "

"In fact, it would be nearer fifty, considering Mr. Fawkes's dietary needs," said Massingbird.

"Right," I said. "But we can."

"They have moved out of Craft's audio pickup range," said Massingbird.

"They're not gone," I said. "They'll hide in the bushes for a couple of days and see if we come out."

"I agree," said Fawkes. "Afterwards they will return and report to their superiors."

"And then?" I said. "Will they come back with reinforcements?"

"That will depend," said Fawkes. "Specifically, it will depend on whether they believe we have something else of the same value as the serum hidden inside this vault. The Brotherhood does possess weapons powerful enough to open this vault, but they are few and they will not use them lightly. The resource demand is too high." He hesitated for a second, rubbing the top of his bald head. "They are still somewhat in my debt, but that is awkward for them given their normal attitude toward Meta-Humans. I am not sure whether that will weigh with them or not." I'd gotten a lot better at reading his voice by that time. The overtone of sadness was real and distinct. Never mind the power armor, I wanted to go find the Paladin and punch him in the face. I sat on that reaction prompt, though. If I couldn't do that I'd've got killed a long time ago.

"What if we let one of them come in and look?" I said. "All through the vault? I mean, not the whole storage room, that would take years. But as much as he can do in a day or so with us looking over his shoulder. Would that convince them there's nothing here?"

"Not completely," said Fawkes. "But it would give them much less reason for further incursions."

"Damn straight," I said. Massingbird, can Craft talk loud enough for them to hear her?"

"Possibly," said Massingbird.

"Okay, tell them this - "

"Let my voice be the one they hear," said Fawkes. I nodded. It would have more weight coming from him. "Officers of the Brotherhood of Steel," said Fawkes. "This is Fawkes. I have a proposal."

"They have moved within visual range again," said Massingbird. Fawkes related our idea.

"You may retain your armor and weapon, but you must remove your helmet. If more than one of you approaches the door or attempts to enter, we will consider you to have violated the agreement," he finished. The last three words seemed to trend down in pitch a little. I looked at him with surprise. "Do you understand?"

"Understood," said Massingbird, in the first voice we'd heard. "I'll go." He reverted to his normal voice and added, "The others appear to disagree with this decision owing to the risks inherent." One sensor on top of his head rotated toward Fawkes, kind of pointedly, it seemed to me. "He outranks them, however. He has cut off the discussion and is approaching the front door."

"Open it," I said. The three of us faded back to each side so we wouldn't be visible in the opening. Massingbird glided forward, made a couple of changes on the door's interior control panel, and slid back himself as the door hissed open.

One man in powered armor stood there without a helmet. He apparently had decided to leave behind his weapon as well, or at least he wasn't carrying it where I could see. His skin was sort of a coffee-with-cream brown, and the thin fuzz of hair on his skull was black. He stepped slowly inside.

The door closed behind him as he looked around at us. Nobody had drawn a weapon.

"So it is you," he said to Fawkes. I guess he recognized the Vault 87 suit. "I saw you once, with the Vault Dweller, but we've never met."

Fawkes nodded slowly.

"What's your name?" I asked the man. He turned to look at me, kind of curiously, I thought. I guess all three of them must've been wondering about me.

"I'm Knight LaShawn Redpoll. You must be Thistle."

"Yeah," I said. "That's Three." I jerked my head at Three, who was looking very closely at Knight Redpoll. "Here's the deal. You can go in any room. Open the cupboards, look in the drawers, read the computers, whatever. Just don't try to take anything. That make sense?"

"It makes sense," said Knight Redpoll.

"At least one of us will always be watching you," I said. "So it may get a little crowded in here. Don't let that bother you. You keep faith with us and we'll keep faith with you. Do what you've got to do and get out."

"Fair enough," said the Knight. "Okay if I start in here?"

"Be my guest," I said.

The next while was boring and tense, so I'm going to skip over most of it. Redpoll searched pretty much the whole place. Massingbird came along behind him and tidied up anything he left messy. Which he didn't, really; I got the impression the robot was kind of offended that he was there. We went from room to room with him. After a while the Knight started to sweat a little, but I thought it was from concentration, not from fear. He wiped his nose with a gloved hand and kept going.

Massingbird had been true to his word about the storage room. Everything was lined up in neat rows by category. Redpoll went through and looked it all over.

"We could use some of these parts," he said. "All of it is in new condition."

"Mm hmm," I said. "When you go back, let them know we'll be happy to consider an offer on each piece that you want."

"From what I hear, you've already collected once," he said mildly.

"We were the low bidder," I said. "Six hundred caps plus food rations for Fawkes. And for that, you got a cure for mutation and cancer. I think that's more than fair."

"Six hundred caps and a new house," said Redpoll. "Looks like you made out all right."

"It's not our house," I said. "Massingbird has been nice about letting us stay, though."

"Un huh," said Redpoll, looking at the robot. Massingbird looked back with no expression that I could see. I was pretty sure the BOS guys would want to get their hands on Jarod Lamont's AI work. But then, Redpoll didn't know Massingbird was a unique creation. He looked like any other Mister Handy.

Redpoll gave kind of a sarcastic look to the shiny stuff in the lab, but he didn't say anything. I doubt there was much of anything there that the Brotherhood didn't have already. He spent a few minutes on the binders and a few more on the computer, I think just confirming what he expected to see. All of us were relieved when he said he was done. I could see Three getting wound tighter every second, and it was starting to look painful.

We all trooped back down to the entry room and Massingbird opened the door again. Redpoll looked up at Fawkes.

"I can guess what her reasons are," he said. "Probably, his, too." He was wrong about that part, actually, but it seemed like a bad time to correct him. "But I'd like to know why you would do this, Fawkes."

"My involvement with the Brotherhood was for the sake of my friend," said Fawkes. "He is dead."

"And what about them?" asked Redpoll, looking at Three and me.

"You are brave to ask," said Fawkes. "But I have never seen a Knight who lacked courage. In the end, you would betray me because of what I am." I was pretty sure you didn't mean Knight Redpoll. I think he knew it, too. "Humans will always find me repugnant. This is true even of Three. Thistle is unusual in that she does not."

"Gary?" said Three, startled. He was still staring up at Fawkes as Redpoll turned and went out into the gathering dark. Massingbird closed the door behind him and locked it.

"Repugnant?" said Three.

"I think that means ugly," I said. Three rolled his eyes.

"Know what it gary means."

"It is clear that you do not trust me," said Fawkes. "You have not since we met." He didn't seem upset by this, just curious.

"Gary same as ggeveryone," said Three.

"Yeah, that's true," I said. "He's not a trusting kind of guy. I don't think he cares that you're a super mutant. I mean, he spent like 200 years inside Vault 108 learning to hate a bunch of guys who looked exactly like him. When I met him he was in the middle of getting an object lesson on not trusting anybody who doesn't look like him, either."

"Except for one person," said Fawkes.

Three nodded. He was still looking at Fawkes. "Thistle," he said.

"We have that point of agreement, at least," said Fawkes.

"Glad to hear it," I said. I couldn't hug Three, and while Fawkes would probably let me hug him, it would seem sort of unbalanced. So I just stood there, feeling warm.

"Craft indicates they have left audio pickup range again," said Massingbird after a while, breaking the silence. I was sure they'd left range quite a while ago, and he'd been waiting for the right time to say it.

"Thanks," I said. "And thanks again for letting us stay. I really like it here."

"I am very pleased you've decided to remain here," said Massingbird. "I believe I will go and see if I can locate enough parts to build a few proximity sensors."

He went out the next day to set up the new sensor net. I didn't have anything special to do, so I read some more of the diaries. That was when I got the idea for typing all this out. It seems like we're pretty safe here at the moment. Three is out walking up and down the gully, memorizing every scrap of the ground. If anyone tries to sneak in here, maybe with a Stealth Boy or some of the recon armor you see around, they'll have to set off the new sensors or destroy them - and then they will find themselves in unfamiliar territory while Three stalks them through the weeds with hard, deft hands. And if they get past him, Fawkes will come down on them like the wrath of God; and by then I'll be up where I can see them with my plasma rifle. And if somehow they get past us all three, there will still be Craft and Massingbird and whatever nasty little surprises they can come up with.

I like our odds pretty well. But if I turn out to be wrong, I want there to be some record left behind. If the only way for anybody to learn my name after this is through this terminal, I want to make good and sure they know about Three and Fawkes and all the rest of it, too. I don't type real fast, and I've been at this for a lot of days now. Whenever I have time, and Fawkes has time to read over my shoulder and tell me where I spell stuff wrong, I come back here to Jarod and Terry's room and work on it some more. Three isn't much of a reader, so it's usually just the two of us. He seems to get along pretty well with the robots. Probably because they never try to touch him.

I'm only a couple of feet from the bed Three slept in last night. Tonight, when he comes back in from pacing the gully, he'll sleep right there again. Fawkes will walk the hall and the lab and the entry all night, just like he does every night. And if Three wakes up screaming, like he still does from time to time, he'll know me and my rifle are just a few feet away and Fawkes and the gat just a few more. And if I wake up – twinging from the scars in my back and belly, wondering why my boots are off, thinking it was all a dream and I'm dying of a hole in my gut out in the mud – then Three will be right there, saying "Gary" in the most reassuring way possible.

And then I'll hear the footsteps of a giant outside in the hall, and I will know that everything is all right, and that everything will be all right forever.

Or until tomorrow. Sometimes that's the best you can do.

Power down terminal? Y/N

Y

End