According to Piper, the big kahuna was running business on Far Harbor - the Commonwealth's most far flung territory. Considering the heat that had been brought down elsewhere, Valentine could bet you bottle caps to billiard balls that was probably code for letting some of her newfound leg breakers slack in the leash.
"Oh, hey, Ms. Wright.", the caravan hand called out. Apparently Piper had become quite the newspaper mogul. This was not the first to recognize her by face. But she had said that her circulation had reached near total coverage of the Commonwealth now that we were not trying to kill each other off half as much as was fashionable back in my day.
She turned to the synth. "You're not that old, Nick."
"You wouldn't guess that from looking at him.", the caravan hand objected. And he was right. The only thing shiny about the cracked, gray mug and the mechanics staring back through the holes in it were the two glowing yellow eyes. "Why haven't you gotten fixed up by the Institute? They're members of the Commonwealth now."
"I'd wish to god that everyone would let me face my face on my own terms.", Nick replied. "Am I the only one that hasn't forgotten about the people they replaced? You'd think it would be obvious why I wouldn't want to go back under the screwdriver. It's not like I spend my time getting dolled up shaking my skirt at the Dugout Inn."
"Alright, Nick.", Piper chided. She tried to blow away any budding tension like she blew away the tired, stale smoke of the rank cigarettes found in the post-apocalyptic world we smoked. "Nobody's going to tinker with you."
"But you.", she turned back to the caravan. "You've been down to the Capital Wasteland."
"And back, finally and thankfully.", the man replied. "You say you want a story. Embed yourself on a trek of the no one's, no how's land in between the places that are still as hospitable as the Commonwealth is. The few of us that make it through end up trading our way across the wasteland for months or more to build up the strength just to make the return journey. Only reason to do it is when the market's completely dried up for what you got on your brahmin."
The synth shifted his hat. "So you have been down to the Brotherhood of Steel's territory."
The man shrugged. "It's not so much 'their' territory. Sure they're the biggest stick around. But the towns are very much on their own. They don't have the...the cohesiveness that the Minutemen bring to the 'wealth.
"But I suppose I've seen enough to answer simple enough questions. You know, guidebook stuff."
The woman nodded. "Sure, I get it. But what I'm looking for is confirmation of a very specific capability of the Brotherhood."
The caravan hand nodded and stared at the ground, like his shadow owed him something. "Not much they aren't capable of. Pre-war, the Captial Wasteland was just...well, the capital. Capital of the whole dang everything. The Brotherhood of Steel is set up in the military headquarters of the United States. They took the radiation out of the harbor. And rumor has it that they had a gigantic robot that could toss MINI-NUKES like you'd skip a rock."
Nick took the lead at that point. "So you can say with a straight face that the Brotherhood could nuke somebody if they wanted."
"If they wanted, they could drop it from the sky.", the man attested. "A few years back, maybe a decade, they beat back a group called the Enclave. They took their headquarters. And guess what that headquarters was called."
Piper shrugged. "What?"
"Edwards Air Force Base.", the man said solemnly. "That's where that giant airship came from And all their vertibirds. If the Brotherhood wanted to make something happen, the could."
Then the man looked at the two suspiciously. "Why? What happened in the months that we were away?"
