A/N: Big thanks to Mr Ninja Pineapple for betaing this chapter!
Kaelyn arrives amidst a flurry of preparations in the Nucleus. Children mill on the catwalk around the Vessel, lifting their arms in prayer. The launch key is heavy in her pocket, made of black lead that has absorbed all the fear and despair of a dead world.
Sister Mai's face lights up when she sees Kaelyn. "You're back, and just in time!"
And so Kaelyn attends her first scouring.
Clad only in trousers and a bra, she stands in line with the others: the High Confessor at the head of the procession, with the Grand Zealot as his second—a sign of status, or to protect Tektus's exposed back?—all the way down to the Archemist who imposes order at the rear. Those without Atom's blessing take their place behind Richter, while those unaffected by radiation hang towards the back of the line. Kaelyn is sandwiched between Devin and Ware, the former excited for the ritual and the latter a steady bulk behind her.
Confessor Tektus, minus his headdress, takes the Children down the concrete corridors of the base, leading the prayers they chant in time with their steps. Unlike the rest of the Nucleus, there are no bottle lights flickering in the corners, but the occasional gas lamp. Decontamination arches flank the entrance of a room, spraying cold—and pure—water to wash away the worst of the grime coating their bodies before they step inside.
Lanterns sit in the corners, throwing their dim yellow glow under the lavish decorations: rich banners cover the walls, trapping in heat and moisture, while strings of empty light bulbs dangle from the ceiling. Benches have been draped in cloth and covered with small offerings. Kaelyn looks twice and notices a row of shower heads along the wall, peeking out between the drapes. In the center of the room is a spot slick with algae, next to a drum filled with water. A clay pitcher bobs on the surface.
The bathroom is all but unrecognizable.
"Of mighty Atom, we beg forgiveness for our sins today. As we scour away Your Glow, so do we scour away our inadequacies as we prepare to embrace You anew with clear hearts." Tektus scoops up the pitcher of water and pours it over his head. He then turns to face the procession, flinging his arms up. "Glory to Atom!"
"Glory to Atom!"
One by one, the Children kneel before Tektus to be scoured. When it's Kaelyn's turn, she goes to one knee, hunching over to protect her vulnerable middle and bows her head. Tektus pours the water over her head with enough care that it doesn't drip into her eyes but instead runs down the back of her neck. It isn't water at all, she discovers, but an oily liquid that makes her skin prickle in the cold air. Taking her cues from those who went before her, Kaelyn rubs it along her arms, her shoulders, her stomach and legs. It leaves a fine film over her skin. A drain near her right knee collects any spillage.
"Rise, my child, and let yourself be transformed inside and out."
"Glory to Atom," she murmurs.
At the back of the room, under a row of shower heads, a crude hip-high pool has been constructed. Devin helps her over the high edge, and she bathes with the others. The anti-rad brew doesn't wash off so easily, and perhaps the word scouring is more literal than Kaelyn previously thought. At least she isn't the only one who has to fully submerge herself to get the stuff out of her hair.
When she steps out of the pool, the Archemist holds out a threadbare towel—and pauses. Above her surgical mask, her watery gray eyes alight on Kaelyn's belly. "Ah. So that is why our lady revealed herself to you."
"I'm sorry?"
Towel forgotten, the Archemist runs a fingernail along the stretch marks that ribbon over the soft flesh of Kaelyn's stomach. Every instinct shrieks to slap away her hand, to cover the marks, to hide the unwanted reminder carved into her body. But her body has changed in other ways, too: the added thickness at her hips, the slight sag of her breasts. Signs that cannot be hidden from an experienced eye such as the Archemist's.
Now a dozen pairs of curious eyes watch, including Mai and even Richter. Whispers run a circuit of the room. With so many people present, the air has since grown balmy, but goosebumps pebble over Kaelyn's arms.
"What is this?" The Confessor himself approaches, and the crowd melts away for him like ice before a flame.
A quiet instinct makes Kaelyn go still under Tektus's assessing gaze. Silence hangs in the humid air, hot and thick and stifling. Everyone watches her now.
The Archemist bows her head. "A mystery solved, Confessor. There are some things only a mother can understand. Like knows its like."
In the flurry of worship and exultant praise after the scouring is over, some Children run right away to Mai's modified decontamination system to douse themselves in fresh Glow. Arms uplifted, they chant praises to Atom as the jets spray irradiated mist onto them.
The only transformation Kaelyn feels on the inside is a fresh headache. She makes a quick escape back to her belongings, trying to ignore the hush that spreads when she passes by, or the prickle at the back of her neck when someone watches her. One man steps out of her way with wide eyes, murmuring something about the Mother's chosen, and tries to touch the hem of her robe when her back is turned. Her dog tags and wedding rings are safe in her satchel, as is the nuclear launch key. But no matter how many layers she dresses in, she feels exposed.
Kaelyn sits alone on the stairs, nursing fresh ambivalence and the headache that has since migrated to her temples. It's bothered her on and off all day, piercing enough to distract but not so severe to warrant medication. She traces the shape of the launch key in her pocket. At the sound of heavy footsteps behind her, her hand recoils as if burned.
"Your absence was noted at the evening meal." Ware comes to a halt in her peripheral.
His out of character wording gives her pause, then it clicks. "Tell them I was praying alone."
"Not a problem." Ware lowers himself to the ground beside her with a creak of armor. She almost believes he's here just for the company when he says, "You never mentioned a kid."
Her fingers clench around the launch key until it bites her hand hard enough to leave a mark, no matter the layers of fabric separating them. "There's a reason for that."
With a sigh, Ware props his rifle on the step by his feet. "I'm sorry."
For some reason it all comes tumbling out. "It was a nuclear explosion. Most people around here would say that's a noble way to—" She draws in a deep, shuddering breath. "They would say I should be proud that he achieved Division. What do you think?"
And just how offended would Shaun, a man of science, be at this absurd belief?
Ware makes a low noise in his throat as he considers. "I think it's something worth grieving, no matter what anyone else believes." He holds out a bottle. "Here. We don't need the scouring, but it'll give you a kick."
Kaelyn takes three quick gulps of the proffered bottle. It's not half as foul as Bovrov's Best. Despite its sharp tang, the aftertaste is almost sweet, like honey coating her teeth. She's also certain there's a shot of vodka in there. "Thank you."
"No problem, sister."
For every Richter, there's a Ware.
The launch key in her pocket grows heavier as they share the bottle. When it's empty, they go to their separate beds to wait for morning. After a simple breakfast, Kaelyn enters the Vessel and drops to one knee before Tektus.
In her pocket, the launch key digs into her thigh.
Tektus acknowledges her at once. "Glory to Atom, my child." But when she rises, he appraises her with sharp eyes, lingering on her middle.
She pushes back the discomfort. "I have been remiss in my duties here. I wish to serve the family, if you would do me the honor." The word family burns a little coming out, but her voice barely wavers. Just as with the Institute, she seeks to ingratiate herself to be above suspicion, even though she knows she'll probably regret volunteering.
That earns a twitch of Tektus's mouth. "Eager, I see. Rumors have reached my ears of treachery in the family. Investigate this person for any designs against Atom, myself or the family." He writes something on a scrap piece of paper, folds it in half, and bequeaths it to her.
In a quiet corner, Kaelyn peeks at the note. Aubert.
She needs directions from the nearest zealot to find this Aubert, as she has no idea who they are. The woman in question resides in the previously unseen depths of the Vessel, and notices an intruder in her midst immediately. Her dark hair has fallen out in uneven clumps, leaving white patches of her head to gleam in the low light, and her robes are rumpled. "If you're looking for the crypt, you took a wrong turn. My job to take care of this place. You touch anything, I take the limb. Understand?"
"Absolutely." Curiosity leads Kaelyn to ask, "Why is the crypt down here? Wouldn't there be more room in the rest of the base?"
Aubert wipes her hands on a cloth. "Keeps our fallen brethren close to His Glow, near their family. A true honor denied to too many. Meet something in the Fog? Sorry, brother. Lost to the family. Wander too close to a settlement? Lost to the family. Look at Tektus the wrong way, Atom help—" she freezes. "I have work to do. You should go."
Since Kaelyn has no idea where anything is, she finds a quiet corner to lurk in, hitting her stealth boy when warning footsteps stroll by. At last Aubert slinks away from her post into what looks like a sleeping area, then strolls down the corridor to a closed bulkhead. She disappears inside for almost ten minutes, then reappears. Kaelyn presses against the wall as she passes, hoping the last rippling burst from her stealth boy will be enough, but the woman is too engrossed in her thoughts to notice anything amiss.
Truth be told, it takes Kaelyn the rest of the morning to find a moment to sneak into the storage room without being noticed by a patrol. Aside from a few crates of pre-war equipment, there's a footlocker underneath several baskets of homespun cloth. It's locked, of course, but yields to her screwdriver and bobby pin. Inside it lie a number of letters; the lower they are in the pile, the flatter and more yellowed they become. The topmost one reads:
Edgar,
Grand Zealot Richter says it was an accident. You wandered off alone and he couldn't get to you in time...
He's lying.
None of them will ever admit to it, but this was Tektus. He had you killed because he's terrified of Martin. Because Tektus knows Martin was the only one worthy of running this family.
Atom above, I need you, Edgar. You'd tell me what to do. What keeps coming to mind I know is a bad idea.
Until we're together again,
Aubert
Slipping the incriminating letter into her bra, Kaelyn presses her fingers into her breastbone and considers her options. She decides on writing a letter of her own and leaves it in the footlocker.
At the appointed time—an hour before dinner, when there is a rush of cooking and last-minute prayers—Kaelyn takes to the catwalk above the sub to wait.
This would make an excellent sniper's nest. Richter stands guard near the Vessel's entrance with no nearby cover. It would have to be a head shot; his armor looks formidable enough that it might shave the lethality from a .50 round. No, best not risk him surviving an assassination attempt. However, the High Confessor's podium is protected by the entrance to the sub. The only shot to be made would be when he is entering or leaving the Vessel.
Kaelyn leans against the wall near the door. When there's a shuffle of footsteps from the room inside and a quiet curse, she switches on a fresh stealth boy. Only after Aubert reaches the far side of the catwalk, scanning the area with a pinched expression, does Kaelyn switch it off.
Aubert jumps. "You startled— you. Look, about the note— I didn't mean—"
Kaelyn presses a finger to her lips and withdraws a notebook and pen from her belt pouch. Gesturing Aubert over, she holds up the note she's already written.
Before you panic, I'm not going to turn you in to the Confessor. You deserve to know he's the one who sent me to investigate you. I don't know if anything I can say will sway him, but I'll try to convince him you're not a threat.
With trembling hands, Aubert snatches the pen away. Why?
Because Tektus is choking the life out of not only the family, but the whole island. People will die on all sides if he isn't challenged or convinced what he's doing is wrong.
Dangerous words, sister. He had my Edgar murdered for being friends with the old Confessor.
Hence why we must be careful. Do you know of any other malcontents?
Aubert scowls. I only have your word that you won't give me up. Give back my letter.
Kaelyn plucks it from her shirt with two fingers and holds it out. After ascertaining it is the real letter, Aubert tears it to pieces and drops the remnants into one of the bottle lights, where the paper dissolves at the touch of irradiated water.
I'll make my report to Tektus, then we'll talk more?
Aubert hesitates.
Kaelyn scrawls, I can't do this alone. For the good of the family.
It isn't just Tektus. Richter is his dog—and he's just as dangerous, if not more so. But after. Talk after.
Page by page, Kaelyn tears up the their conversation and destroys it as Aubert did. Then she returns to Tektus to deliver the news of Aubert's unswayed loyalty to the family.
Tektus cannot conceal his flicker of surprise and—yes, there's the disappointment, visible only because she anticipates it. "Really? Hmm. Well, you've nonetheless lifted a weight from my shoulders."
Kaelyn doesn't know if he believes her. "Is it not a relief that the family is unified, and no one is disloyal? Are you not glad no one has to be punished?"
"Yes, of course." Tektus's flagging jowls wobble as he says, "However, the family's well-being is my utmost responsibility. You must understand my inclination to worry for them. Not all of the family have the Mother's hand upon them as you do."
That gives her pause.
On her way out of the Vessel, Kaelyn's thigh jars against the wall, banging the launch key. No, there are problems that don't require the nuclear option to solve. And she now has an inkling of how.
Confessor Tektus grants Kaelyn permission to leave the Nucleus again with a wry chuckle. "A restless spirit, are we? Go then, my child, with Atom's grace. Spread His light."
Kaelyn's power armor sits in its protected nook a short distance from the Nucleus, and she makes the trip to Acadia in record time. Valentine leans beside Chase in the common room. He stands at the sight of her, excusing himself from the conversation.
Kaelyn's heart clenches and twists at the sight of him. Underneath the hurt, or maybe because of the hurt, her stomach flutters at his approach. He looks unchanged in his fedora and trench coat, and she could almost believe he's as chipper as ever. Realizing that she's staring, Kaelyn clears her throat. "Good to see you."
"Likewise. Wasn't expecting you back this soon. Is it over already? Didn't catch any explosions, so I take it the launch key is still safe."
She nods. "I have a plan, maybe. But I want to run it by you first. I don't... trust my moral judgment."
His eyes flicker, but he says, "Alright. Hit me with what you've got."
"Tektus is grinding the Children under his heel. Obey him or face the consequences. And his Grand Zealot, Richter, is in his pocket. He'll kill anyone Tektus orders him to."
Valentine nods slowly, affirming what they already know. "So what's your plan?"
"Killing Tektus makes him a martyr unless it looks like Atom punished him for wrongdoing. If it comes from the inside—a coup, maybe—no one can blame Far Harbor or Acadia. Look, there are enough Children out for blood, but without the High Confessor fanning the flames they might calm down. Tektus doesn't need to die. He just needs to be gone. Or somehow convinced Atom's will is for peace."
"If the Children latch onto Tektus's every word, or at least pretend to, how are you going to evict him from his seat of power? Or are you planning on talking him down?"
Kaelyn draws in a breath to bolster herself. "By using the Mother of the Fog. People get real quiet when they hear about that vision. Hallucination. Whatever it was. Point is, they believe it was important. If I tell them the Mother gave me a sign, they might just buy it."
"The thing about religious signs is that you can claim it, but so can Tektus." Valentine presses his mouth into a hard line. "Someone else could make up another so-called vision as they please. And this is their religion we're talking about. Faking a sign from their god? It doesn't sit right."
Kaelyn heaves a sigh and rubs circles on her temples, willing the ache away. Guilt stirs in her stomach, and she makes no attempt to quash it. "I know. But what choice do we have at this point? It's that or replace Tektus with a synth."
"Morality ain't relative, but this still beats DiMA's idea. Peace without bloodshed is worth a shot. If you can talk the Confessor down, more power to ya." Valentine reaches out to her shoulder, but aborts the gesture halfway. "Whatever you do, be careful. You're playing with a cult. If Tektus wills it, they'll turn on you. And this Richter sounds like his top enforcer. Don't underestimate him."
"I won't. Thanks, Nick." There's more to say, the words pressing behind her breastbone, but no matter how she tries, they won't rise to her tongue. Valentine, too, is intent on her, about to speak, but something over her shoulder catches his attention.
"Psst. I need to talk to you! Just you!"
It's no one but Derrick, leaning around a door frame, his eyes darting and frantic. He motions Kaelyn to follow him into a nearby storeroom with a jerky gesture. Since Derrick has always been skittish, she gives Valentine an apologetic shrug and follows. The kid flinches even though he's the one who slams the door shut.
Kaelyn turns to face him where he presses back against the door. "Hey, Derrick. You're looking a little agitated. What's wrong? How can I help?"
He lets out a reedy stream of air, deflating into a tense line. "I was helping Faraday file some project reports on his terminal and— I saw— the logs—"
"Hey, hey," Kaelyn soothes. "Easy there. Take a deep breath and tell me what's going on. What did you find?"
Derrick's wide eyes land on her, not only appalled and fearful but—pitying. That, more than anything else, is what coils the unease in her gut.
"When they brought you back from the Fog, they—did something to you. Faraday and DiMA."