Nothing ever goes Wright
Nothing is ever safe in the Commonwealth. Even if you think you are safe, you are not. It is one of the harshest lessons to learn, yet one that must be learned all the same, I think. And even if you are safe, those you love might not be. Mama Murphy's proposals were as outlandish as her origin, but the more I look back at it, the more I wonder if she knew what was coming. If she knew the choice wasn't mine to make at all.
A cafeteria was apparently just a smaller cantina.
Robert was apparently just as safe and alive as rumored, too.
Martin couldn't help himself but smile, the first he felt like he'd allowed himself or felt like, upon seeing the other man. Robert bore a scar on his neck now, almost reaching his chin, deep and with angry lines like he'd been struck by lightning.
It felt strange, all the same, waddling over to the mercenary. The wooden leg Sturges had now fitted on him felt strange. Walking felt strange. Not feeling his foot felt strange. All of it felt strange.
"You okay?" Robert was the first of them to speak. He had a nervous, shifting look in his eyes, like he was under the influence, yet it was clear he'd not touched drink. Not recently anyway.
Martin couldn't give him an answer, not an honest one anyway. Mostly, he didn't know himself. Physically he was okay, safe for the loss of a limb, which made him a cripple. Cripples weren't okay. But he was also walking, which made him not a cripple. Either way he'd lost the leg, which probably meant he leaned more towards 'no'.
"Are you?"
"Well, I'm alive," the mercenary replied, somewhat sheepishly. He rubbed at the scar, "Somehow. I, uh, I'm not really sure what you did, or... well, I mean, I know sort of what happened, just... not really sure I believe all of it."
"I know the feeling," Martin muttered, casting a side-ways glance to where Mama Murphy made her way to one of the small tables. Pre-war, cushioned seats creaked dangerously whenever any of the Quincy refugees moved in them. Already the floor was covered in places with fragments of ancient, red plastic. It did not pass him by that many of the refugees had changed their appearances, and now wore clothes more suited for the colder days. Dark, bluish coats and long jackets, with solid boots dragging dirt and filth on the ancient floor, "It has been a day of... changes."
"Days, more like," MacCready snorted, "You've been out of it."
"So I was told," It didn't seem like anyone else in the group cared about their conversation. None of the Quincy folk even looked up more than once, some lingering just a moment longer with their stares. Only the other Minutemen seemed at all interested, but for now cared more about food, "I only remember the ambush. Then I wake up here... Where is here?"
"Well, it's a Super Duper Mart. Probably not what you meant though."
"I noticed..."
In truth he hadn't. This was the first time he'd seen the insides of such a store, though he knew of them. It was like a roofed marketplace, with rows and rows of stalls, each with shelves that had once offered wares for sale. Now, safe for some few, scattered pieces of pre-war merchandize, they were as skeletal and barren as the rest of the old world. The cafeteria was set into the side of the market, with its own dedicated kitchen. Somehow, the machinery still worked, and the lights were still on.
"We're in Lexington, dunno if that means anything to you though," Robert continued, offering them plates of something that resembled food, "They dragged us like, six miles. Minutemen are made of some stern stuff, I tell ya."
Lexington. Somehow, the name rang familiar. He couldn't place it though, no matter how hard he tried. It was in there, somewhere, in the back of his mind. For some reason, Lexington was important. Somehow.
Martin slumped into one of the red plastic seats, watching with dulled interest how the mere act of touching made some of the red flake off.
"Six miles..." It was unlikely that Garvey and his men had taken them six miles closer to Greentop. Considering where the ambush had happened, it seemed far more likely that they were now almost as far from their original target as they'd been when setting out from Bunker hill, if not Diamond City itself. Distance was hard to tell when the path ever wound between streets and ruins, "How far from Greentop are we?"
"Dunno, maybe... ten? Twelve miles? Depends on the bridges, I guess."
"Fantastic..." Martin felt his spirits, whatever had been left of them, thin and wane at the man's words. Twelve miles. Even ten miles might as well be a great journey in a land as untamed as the Commonwealth. And atop all that, he'd no idea if any of his medical supplies, the very same he'd meant to bring to Greentop, were still around.
He tried the food, shoving the given plastic fork into something that looked remarkably similar to roast chicken. Only the color was a little off, and the bone was green.
"Maybe it'd be better if we made for home," Piper sounded less defeated, but at least offered up a plan, "If the routes north are camped by raiders, there's not a lot we can do right now. There's other settlements on the list, ones out west instead of north. Or we could try Abernathy, it's not... too far from Lexington, I think?"
"Abernathy was the last settlement Sun visited, I think," Martin shrugged. They would still be well-stocked, by all accounts. A visit there would only be a waste of time, most likely. He paused, nodding towards the Quincy refugees, "You know where they are going?"
"North, probably," Robert shrugged, eating with far less reservations than Martin, "Garvey said something about seeking sanctuary up north. Don't see why it'd be much safer than here, though. At least the Super Duper Mart has walls, power and the water still works, somehow. Up north's just forests, mutated animals, carnivorous plants... Mirelurks, probably. Plus next to no shelter from the radstorms, unless you know how to crack open one of those old Vaults."
"Everyone knows about the Concord Vault," Piper scoffed, "But you'd need codes to get in, if the entrance even still works. That or one of those old Pip-Boys. And I don't see a Vault-dweller in the Quincy-crowd."
"A Pipboy?" Martin frowned. He'd thought at this point most of the common knowledge in the Commonwealth was known to him, but that was a new word, "What is Pipboy?"
"Really, you don't-" Robert started, coughing, "You've never heard of a Pip-Boy? The pre-War wrist-wonder? The 'Transportable Terminal'? The Personal Processor?"
"...I've been...occupied..."
"What, you don't have Pip-Boys at all where you're from?" MacCready frowned, as if something occurred to him just then, "Actually...where did you say you were from?"
"It is long story," Martin turned his eyes down to what was left on his plate again, hoping it would serve to end the conversation, "And it does not matter here, I think. I do not even know if I can return."
"Sucks, I know the feeling," MacCready nodded, apparently sympathetic enough that his inquiries could wait, "You know, I've been around a lot at this point. Went to Diamond City too, once, before they ran me out for selling my gun."
"Before or during McDonough?" Piper asked.
"Before. It was the old mayor, forgot his name," the younger man shrugged. He picked at the last scraps on his plate, scratching the weathered, old plastic, "Anyway, I ran into that private dick guy, Valentine. First time I ever saw a synth, would you believe I almost pissed myself?"
Piper put down her glass of water in the same moment, a mildly unsettled, yet amused look on her face.
"Never," Martin said. The image was an entertaining one though. Especially since his own meeting with Valentine had been more of an existential "what the hells?" moment than one of fear. Mostly.
"I would," Piper mused.
"Anyway," MacCready continued with a somewhat miffed expression, "Figures he's some sort of Institute prototype reject, like something new they were working on and then they dumped the earlier models, right? I mean, who the Hell knows what they're cooking up in those labs of theirs? Nick doesn't remember, right?"
"Far as I know, no, he doesn't remember anything before he woke up in a trash heap," Piper seemed to contemplate saying more, but held her tongue, "When did you find out? It's not exactly his go-to with new people"
"My point is," he said, brushing past Piper's question as if it was something unpleasant, "Nick doesn't remember. Martin, how did you get here? Why can't you return?"
"I don't know," Martin admitted. It frustrated him that he still had not understood this. How could Nirnroot cause something like this, like sending him to another land entirely? "Accident in the laboratorium. Rest I do not know."
Robert, in that moment, looked every bit the mercenary he supposedly was. An expression of genuine cunning and concentration came upon him, as if he had finally solved some sort of great riddle.
"Right, I get ya," He leaned back, seemingly satisfied with the reply. Strange though, for Martin hadn't actually answered his original question. Had he said something else that mattered more?
Before he had the chance to ask, however, another figure intruded upon their table.
"Hey," It was Preston Garvey, now without hat and musket, yet he still looked as weathered as before. Martin wondered if maybe it was the Commonwealth's effect on all who tried doing good, aging them beyond their years. Only now in better lights did Martin notice the man's clothes were not the same as in Diamond City, and that there was a metal breastplate hidden in the folds of his coat, "Mind if I sit with you folks?"
It wasn't for a lack of seats, Martin noticed. Plenty of the old cafeteria's chairs yet stood empty. A few, however, had marks that looked as if the silhouette of a person had been burned into the old leather.
Garvey settled into the seat next to MacCready, who looked somewhere between uncomfortable and curious at the Minuteman's arrival. He hadn't brought a plate either. Instead he settled in, hands folded on the table, and looked like he'd something to say. In the same instant, he seemed to entirely forget it, and instead sagged a little, like a deflated ball.
There were a lot of symptoms of stress and insomnia, and Martin felt like he could have made the same observation without ever stepping a foot inside the College of Whispers. It was clear as day, with the - probably - older man's bagged eyes, wrinkles and the way his skin seemed taut and without the color it should have had. He was drained, it was evident.
"You guys settling in here?" Piper was the first to actually speak. It caught the man by surprise, his eyes had been solely on Martin for the better part of a minute now, "Shopping Mart's not exactly where I'd set up sho... where I'd settled down."
"It'll serve, for now," Garvey muttered, leaning back in his seat, "We're not staying here, trust me. The Corvega Plant's only a few miles down the road, and raiders have it taken over. We're just here until the Quincy people have gathered themselves, and we pick the place clean of anything useful. Then we're moving north."
"Further from the City," Martin noted, "You are going into the wilderness?"
"Not exactly, but you're right that we're going away from the city. Boston's overrun with raider gangs, and I don't have the men to defend these people in there. Even the small towns like Lexington have their gangs, like some sort of city-state. You live here, you belong to the raiders. Not the kind of life I'd offer anyone. Up north there's more distance between settlements, which means raiders don't usually bother as much as down south. The old Boston, before the War, had the main city, and a lot of smaller, tributary townships, like Lexington, Malden or Concord. Lexington and Malden are out of the question, they're full of raiders or worse. But Concord's supposed to be clear, after the gangs there wiped each other out a few months back. It's got enough surviving structures that you could probably find something livable, and the old plutonium well wasn't ruined by the bombs."
"How do you know that?" Piper asked.
"Used to be a trading hub back when folks tried reforming the government here,"
"And you think it hasn't been destroyed since?" Martin asked. It seemed optimistic, far more so than someone like Garvey had any right or reason to be. That he personally had no idea what a plutonium well was, at the same time, was irrelevant. If it was worthwhile, he doubted the Wasteland had let it survive.
"It has been almost fifty years," Piper noted.
"All the important parts are underground," Garvey continued, some note of confidence in his voice, "Supposedly it's crawling with Mirelurks down there, but the control room itself should be sealed off. Not even raiders are crazy enough to fight Mirelurks underground. Usually. It's almost always suicide to try, since the damn things just huddle up and go at you. I'd take my chances with a Yao-Guai above ground than a Mirelurk in the sewers."
"I can't imagine a better place to settle down,"
"It's not perfect," the Minuteman nodded, "But it'll mean potential for power, once we get settled. Mirelurks can be cleaned out if you know what you're doing, and you're careful. Raiders don't usually check either field."
"Abernathy Farm is up near Concord," Robert finally pitched in, having seemingly gotten over his apprehension, though of what Martin wasn't really sure, "Why not just go there?"
"Already radio'd up, asked them," The confidence ebbed somewhat from the Minuteman's face and tone, "They... got hit pretty hard by raiders last week. Lost hands, stocks, most of the cattle, and their barn was torched. They're not even sure they can feed themselves come winter, let alone us."
Piper leaned forward so fast Martin had to reach in and get her plate out of the way before she planted both hands in it.
"You have a radio?" there was an urgent, almost frustrated tone to her voice, and her expression was one of both relief and exhaustion, "You've got a radio here? no one told me there's a radio, can it reach Diamond City?"
"Ought to, it's closer than Abernathy," Garvey nodded, somewhat apologetically adding, "Sorry, didn't know you needed it. It's in the front room, by the entrance. There's a deactivated Protectron by it, don't touch that. Sturges still can't crack the security, so it might get hostile if you activate it."
It wasn't hard to figure out what had her so worked up. By now, word would probably have gotten back to Diamond City about the ambush, and anyone showing up to the site wouldn't find survivors. Piper wanted to contact her sister. Martin felt ashamed he hadn't even thought of the girl once since waking up. Even if Natalie was not his sister, he'd still come to almost think of her as such.
Piper stood and in the same moment was out of the seat and away from the table. She gave him a hurried, almost hesitant look as if wondering if she could leave him alone. Was he so pitiful, really?
"Martin, I need to-"
"I know," he cut her off, though managed to smile, "Tell Natalie I say hello. We will be back soon, yes?"
The smile she gave him then was one of the warmest he'd seen in days. He watched her turn so fast her coat swirled about her, then disappeared down the hall to the echo of fading boot-leather.
The warm feelings faded a bit when Garvey coughed, in that way people cough when they mean to bring about some uncomfortable subject. Martin looked back to the older man, who seemed as if he wasn't quite sure how to begin a conversation. It was not an unfamiliar feeling.
"Should I... leave the two of you alone or...?" Robert started, glancing between them.
"No, no, this isn't something private," the Minuteman was quick to say, and the sudden need to speak seemed to break the hesitation, "Look, I want to make you a proposition. All three of you, really, but especially you, Martin."
"I have job already,"
"I'm not offering you a job," something like a laugh appeared in the man's voice, tired, weary and frustrated with life, but still, there was something there, "Not like I could, anyway. Minutemen don't really exist anymore, I'm probably the last one around still working, or at least trying to."
"Not true, we see... saw, in the subways, south of the river. There were Minutemen there, Torques knew them."
"Torques?"
"Caravan boss," Robert explained, "We ran into some old Minutemen in the last station before we crossed the Boston River. Well, former Minutemen, wouldn't really call them old. Leader was a woman, someone named Shaw. Lots of guns, more than you'd expect from citizen soldiers. Armor too."
Garvey's expression tightened for a moment, in something Martin couldn't define. Then it was gone, and the same weary expression was back.
"Well, I hope they're doing right by people down there, in any case," the older man muttered, "Doesn't change the fact that we're effectively the only Minutemen around, far as these folks are concerned. We can't stay here much longer, either. Raider gangs are starting to come out of the Corvega Plant at night, and it's not gonna be long before either them or the sewer ghouls come knocking. We pick this place clean and move on."
Martin cast a glance at the empty mall. It already looked as if everything of value had long since found new homes.
"To Concord," he didn't even quite know how far that'd be, "With these people. You do not fear being attacked on way?"
"We do, probably will," Garvey nodded slowly, almost as if the admission hurt. It likely did, especially as more than a few facs had started turning towards their conversation. Chatter in the cafeteria wasn't as loud now as before, either. It brought his mind back to the assumed anonymity of the crowd, the very thing that hadn't actually worked in the tunnels and had led Robert to start getting curious. In all fairness the curiosity had probably saved his life, and Martin's, "You're wanting to get to Greentop, right? It's a farming settlement north of Malden, ways off from here. Our trip north's probably gonna be a walk in the park compared to yours."
"Lovely," Martin muttered. He already had known to some degree that there would be raider gangs between here and Greentop, but hearing it aloud was a confirmation he really had not wanted, "You offer an armed escort?"
Robert choked on something that sounded midways between a laugh and a snort. Garvey shot the younger man a sideways look before continuing,
"Come with us north," he said, as naturally as if it was the sanest thing in the world. Martin now was the one to almost choke on what was left of his meal. It was a good thing he hadn't been drinking then, the Quincy people were rationing the purified water, "Come with us north to Concord. I've seen what you can do, and I'd be a lot less worried about the trip if I had someone capable of putting people back together without stimpacks."
Robert touched a finger to the scar on his neck, eyes flickering between Garvey and Martin.
"In return," Garvey continued, when he seemed to notice Martin about to protest, "Once we get to Concord, and I can count these folks as safe, I'll personally see you to Greentop Nursery, or back to Diamond City, whichever you choose. It'll be a lot safer than going back just the three of you."
The offer was... not as one-sided as it had first seemed.
Martin was left in silence, contemplating, trying to figure out if it was even a choice he could make. Right now, they were alone in some ruined township only the gods knew where, with the only friendly faces being those now asking for him, Piper and Robert to accompany them even further from home. All for the chance that they would keep their side of the bargain. So far, none of the Minutemen had given him reason to doubt.
"How far is Concord from here?"
"Half a day's walk. Used to be caravans out of Lexington would take the old highway and get there in just two hours. After the Castle fell though, and the Minutemen stopped... being what we were supposed to be, it's not safe anymore. We're going to take a route north of the highway, through the woodlands by one of the old airports. We set out tomorrow morning, and with some luck we'll be in Concord before sunset."
"Did not take you believed in luck," Martin noted, not in ill humor. It would, if anything, be commendable if Garvey still had the spirit to believe in good luck, "What if your luck is bad? Concord could be unsafe."
"Then we make it safe." Garvey's eyes were weary, and matte, not at all like the iron in his voice, "These people haven't had a real break since Diamond City, and most have lost family. We... even lost people after Quincy. I want them safe. I want something to-"
"Martin," Piper appeared by the table as if conjured from Oblivion itself. Her expression was enough for him to know something was wrong, even before she spoke another word. She'd clearly run the entire way back, and something in her eyes filled his veins with ice.
"Natalie?"
"She's fine," maybe she could hear it in his voice, "But she said news of the caravan ambush have gotten to Diamond City. We're assumed dead, and McDonough's already sent people to our home."
"He's a piece of shit, your mayor," Robert was the first to speak, "Sorry,"
"Why would he send people?" Martin asked, though in his heart he already feared any answer she might give. The illusion of McDonough as a kind-hearted, larger-than-life man was quickly shattered when away from him, away from his honeyed words.
"Nat said Vadim says it's because she's not old enough to inherit the house if I'm not there," Piper almost spat the words, they held such vitriol, "That McDonough's men said a little girl can't live alone and keep her school."
"They want to take your house?"
"It's nothing new, McDonough's been trying to shut down the press for years now, and if I don't have the press I can't pay rent," she scoffed, but her hands trembled even as she spoke, "I guess he thinks he finally found an easier way to do it, the bastard. I told Nat to get D.C radio to announce us as survivors."
"Will it be enough?"
"Better be, or I'm... not really sure what else to do," Piper's voice cracked, "We can't get back to Diamond City from here on our own, so I can't just... I don't know what to do, Martin."
Martin didn't know what to say now. The thought of going north with Garvey first had seemed like it might be a solution, before. But now, the idea that every hour spent away from Diamond City brought Natalie and Piper's home in danger, it suddenly seemed like an exercise in wasted time. Who was even to say they would get to Concord? The Commonwealth ran thick with raiders and mutants, and the Minutemen were only a scattered group of half a dozen, sworn to protect their charges. Would they even fulfill their end of the deal, if they did make it to Concord? Would it matter, having Garvey along on the way back?
"Perhaps I can offer a solution."
It was Garvey who spoke now, his face set in the same serious folds as when he'd first asked Martin to come with them north. So the man's next words were no surprise to him.
"Concord's half a day's walk from here, to the north. I've asked Martin to accompany us there, in case any of us will come in need of medical attention on the road," Piper's eyes were fixed on the Minuteman, and it was not a kind gaze. Garvey continued when it seemed she was about to speak her mind, "In return, I'd see you safely back to Diamond City. It was to wherever you'd want to go, but right now I'm guessing getting home takes priority."
"After what I just said- "
"I know, I know, you don't have time," the Minuteman cut her off, waving his hands in placating gestures, "But if you head south now and something happens, you won't get home at all."
Piper didn't speak. It was clear she couldn't find an argument against Garvey's words. Martin, likewise, knew the man was right. Piper herself had just said getting back on their own was all but the same as suicide. At the same time, going north seemed the opposite of what they should be doing, especially now that it seemed McDonough was making his move. But the odds of actually making it back were poor, even if it just meant making it back to Bunker Hill.
No matter the choice, someone at this table would lose.
Somewhere outside, in the darkness of dead Lexington, shadows of steel and iron moved.
Paladin Danse heaved a sigh, casting not the first look of distaste at the monolithic complex before him.
Despite appearances, Lexington was anything but dead. The Corvega Assembly Plant towered above the city's outskirts like a dread beacon of light. Its interior generators had kept the plant illuminated for decades, if not the entire span of the last two centuries, drawing in the filth of the Commonwealth like moths to a flame.
Three more souls had come to join the joust for Corvega, though they accounted themselves of far nobler blood than the scum infesting the ancient structure. Gravel and shattered concrete crunched beneath the weight of reinforced titanium alloy, each step the trio took like the march of ancient colossi.
Despite the moonless night, his helmet's systems rendered the immediate surroundings with clean, if dull clarity, stripping the world of color but leaving him as able as in the daylight. On his left, slightly behind him, Knight Worwick marched with measured steps, laser rifle held at ready. If not for the helmet's sensor array, the man would have been all but invisible.
"Worwick, move up on my left,"
Two rapid clicks, that was all. The order was understood and carried out. Worwick increased his pace ever so slightly, but it was enough that he came up on the left, then proceeded past Danse. The base of the plant was a massive, all-but-impenetrable slab of concrete. Dawes had scouted it last night, finding only two viable entrance-points. The old main entrance at the bottom, across from the parking lot, and a raised platform on the southern side. It was exposed though, too exposed if a firefight began before they reached the doors, and so Danse opted for the old main entrance.
"Brach, check contacts above us. I don't want a repeat of yesterday."
It had been at once blessed fortune, and damned bad luck. A raider had managed to sneak onto the rooftop of one of the houses in the alleyway they'd fought through, and gotten a grenade drop into the armored collar of Knight Keane's power armor. Keane had survived, but the fuel cells of his armor had ruptured in the process, and the armor had to be scuttled.
The Corvega Plant had too many gangways and platforms above them for his liking. While the base and lower parts themselves reminded him of the Citadel, once you looked up it was a mess of spires and platforms, each one capable of holding any number of threats. That was why they were doing this at night, and with vision-enhancing sensors, rather than helmet lights. He wanted inside before anyone on lookout had a chance to rain down grenades on them.
"Entrance identified, moving up," Worwick reported, his voice stripped of emotions by the comms.
The man was older than Danse, by almost a decade, but had never moved above Knight. It was not for lack of skills, but rather ambition. He was as ideal a soldier as a man could be, but no more. Never more.
"Prepare to breach, attack pattern Sacrosanct," Danse ordered, and received double-clicks in turn. Even if they had not yet been spotted, once they broke open the doors, it was weapons hot. Already the finger of his oww gauntlet rested on the trigger.
Brach moved on his own volition, taking overwatch on the side of the entrance facing the parking lot and beyond. Where Worwick was older, Brach was younger, though by a single year only. Much like Rhys, he was one of the orphans, raised by the Brotherhood from so early an age it was hard to say if he remembered his old family at all. If he did, he never spoke of them. Brach was the rising star to Worwick's fading sun, eager to fight, to serve, and to prove that he too, one day, could lead men.
Danse stopped at the doors, taking a final estimate of readiness. Inside would be confined corridors and few, if any, large open spaces aside from the main production halls. It would be terrain well suited for ambushes. Just as much though, it would allow them to leverage the quality of a Brotherhood Knight against the scum of the Commonwealth in close quarters, where armor, discipline and firepower would more than make up for numbers.
He gave the order.
"Breach."
