January 24, 2293
She's back.
Sheila came back this morning while about two dozen of us were eating breakfast. Coming in from the Castle courtyard, she sported red eyes and purpose in her step, and the lecture Preston had planned for her retreated, at least for the moment.
"Good to see you back," I said simply. "You had us worried."
She acknowledged my comment with a crisp nod and cleared her throat. "Ronnie, Danse, Preston… Nick. I need to speak with you all. Let's go to the briefing room in the tunnels." We were all silent as she led us there, gestured for us to speak, and stood before us.
"While I was away, the Minutemen have been on my mind." Just that quickly, our anxiety didn't fade so much as it was shoved away in her presence. When she starts speaking, everyone listens. She has some ineffable combination of striking beauty, fiery eyes, and a commanding demeanor. While she was gone, we wrung our hands over her like she's a delicate princess. But she's not, as we are quickly reminded when she looks at us. She's a pre-war lawyer with a gift for sniper work. It's rare to see someone that competent in a fight—and that inspiring outside of fighting. She's magnetic. Preston knew it and made her the face of his movement. Danse knew it and recruited her for the organization he loved above all else. Deacon recognized it and pulled her into his cause. The Institute apparently knew it first. Perhaps they took her kid hoping he would have a tenth of her charisma. Based on what she's told me, perhaps he does. And me, I wasn't compelled to ask her to join me. Rather, I was compelled to join her. Anyway, she gave one hell of a speech to the four of us.
"The Minutemen have a name in the Commonwealth again for the first time in years. Still, Danse has been right that we're not well-organized. That's to be expected when we're building from the ground up, but we're starting to post sizeable numbers. We need some discipline, some procedures." She raised a finger as Danse was getting a smug look on his face that I did not like. "However, we are not the Brotherhood of Steel. Minutemen do not and should not leave their lives behind to join us. They join us because of their lives and their families. So we need to think about that as we create our organization. I want to deploy the Minutemen to actively check on settlements rather than wait until there's a problem."
Sheila tapped her PipBoy to display a map of the Commonwealth on the wall. "All of our volunteers—once trained—will be sent to tour in groups of three. Six months on tour, two months here at the Castle, and four months at home, wherever that is for them. Each settlement should be encouraged to send at least one resident into the Minutemen. Ideally, however, as we come into our own, each settlement will send *three*. As settlements get larger, that's not unreasonable. With three Minutemen coming from each settlement and staggering their four months there a year, we will always have a trained Minuteman in every single settlement. Ideally? This becomes a rite of passage in the Commonwealth. When you reach adulthood in a stable settlement, serve with the Minutemen for a few years. Some would probably stay, though most wouldn't. But we'd essentially be giving combat training to the good folks of the Commonwealth. In one generation, we'll make settlements much less attractive to raiders. Because that's the ultimate goal, my friends. We are transforming the Commonwealth one settlement at a time. And what we are transforming it into…"
She turned away from us, looking at the map instead. "What we are transforming it into is a place where it's impossible to kidnap someone's child without the entire community coming together to make it right… and punish those responsible. We aren't trying to make a single Commonwealth government. But we are making a network. A web. Traders should be safe traveling, and settlements should be free to prosper without fear of attracting undesirable attention." She turned back to us, looking each of us in the eyes. When she does that, it's impossible to deny her anything.
"Each of you has a crucial role to play in this plan. I'm not always here. When I'm not, Preston is in charge of the Minutemen. What he says goes. What decisions you make, Preston, I'll back up. And I expect you to stay at the Castle. I'll be here frequently but not always… and eventually, you need to take it over. Not yet. You aren't ready yet. But you will be. I'll help you get there, and then you'll lead them with the quiet wisdom that you've displayed every time we've talked since I met you." After his stunned, slow nod, she turned to Shaw. "Ronnie, you're the historian of the Minutemen. That job is more important than any of us realized… and it needs to expand. We don't just need history of the Minutemen. We need history of the Commonwealth itself and of everything that led to it. This is your task. You'll need to identify Minutemen who are well-suited to be historians themselves. This is a tradition we need. Sometimes we'll gather and you'll tell us stories—stories of things you lived through, stories that you've heard from others." Shaw gave a crooked smile and a half-nod. She was in.
Sheila took a swig of cola and turned to Danse. "The Brotherhood have cast you out, and you know what I think about that decision. I know you aren't comfortable thinking about what's happened, but I'm telling you right now, the Minutemen need you. The Minutemen need you to take over training, and we need you to be smart about it. You need a plan to take green recruits and in two months, get them ready to defend their homes and travel through the Commonwealth in relative safety. They need to learn how to work in small teams and how to make the most of their weapons and resources. Will you do this for us? Will you finally join the Minutemen?" She leaned forward and locked eyes with him. I suspect it's how she locked eyes with jury members back in the day. "Will you pledge yourself to the Minutemen the way these two have?"
I don't think I've ever seen Danse that happy. Joy rolled off him as he nodded and saluted. Truth is, that man is happiest when someone is giving him orders. He can lead and lead well—if someone he respects has told him to lead. He didn't say it aloud, but I heard his "ad victoriam" in my head after she gave him the order.
She turned to me, and I dreaded hearing what she had to say. I'm not going to join the Minutemen. But if she'd asked me to… Of course, she understands. Sheila smiled. "Nick, the Minutemen will always need friends… and I'll always need your company." I shouldn't have worried. "When someone needs to do something very dangerous and there's no one else to do it… well, I always want you at my back."
It's petty, but I enjoyed the look on Danse's face—a mix of envy, irritation, bemusement, and horror.
She sighed and sat down, looking at us. "Nick knows a little of this, but I'm going to tell you all some things I don't want to leave this room. My son Shaun is alive, but he is not the boy who was in Diamond City with his kidnapper. My son is a grown man, aged, with a terminal illness… and he is the leader of the Institute. I… I'm not ready to talk about this much, but you deserved to know. And let me be clear. Shaun is the enemy."
She stood up. "Dismissed," she said. "Nick, I need to speak with you. We'll all be talking about this vision over the next few days."
The others filed out, leaving me with her, and I walking up to her, letting her start.
"I scared you by not explaining before I left," she said. "I'm sorry." She moved into my arms. I held her close for seven minutes, 51 seconds. I listened to the sound of her breath and smelled the soap in her clean hair. Twice I let my hand caress that hair. She pulled away, kissed my cheek, and walked out. I followed shortly after.
Author's note: Dansy-Pants made me laugh, Sherlockian. I should slip that in somewhere. Recent guest—thank you! I hadn't known that FanFic has finally added Fallout 4 characters for tagging. Huzzah! Probably three chapters left at this point.