1

The journey through the Commonwealth to Diamond City was uneventful.

Or so the Lone Wanderer professed to Reilly's Rangers.

The Rangers had come to the opinion that it was informative. Even worldview changing. Quincy and University Point seemed to hold just as much Minuteman attention as the places being taken in the Capital Wastes and beyond. And while residents swore upon their frontier spirit, they did so in a much more constructive manner. One that told of building a new thing rather than surviving an untamed wild thing.

Everyone checked their licenses though. The General had decreed that it was a defense against the Brotherhood of Steel. And so every single member of the population had immediately accepted it as fact. The cult of personality the General had managed to craft was what the Lone Wanderer talked about. That there couldn't be a reason for the concrete loyalty the population held. Everyone claimed that they had actually interacted with her in some way and it changed their life. Reilly asked the Lone Wanderer how she was received by people all over the Capital Wastes. Her only replies were that she did not understand the question or why it was asked.

But they had made it to Diamond City: the shining emerald of the Commonwealth protected by her Great Green Wall. But also the center of commerce: from its extraordinarily high population and their needs, to the concentration of talent making services available here as no where else. And while Reilly's Rangers sought information, two of the denizens within had made information their greatest specialty.

2

The dame walked in from the hall that led from his door. The type of dame that made trouble her business. Sure, she was trying to paint over that with some trader disguise like some of the women in a looser business painted over the wasteland on their faces. But where a trader had muscles only in their legs, she had all over. Where a trader had approachability worn into their face, the shape of hers screamed that she did the approaching. And this old synth's eyes could tell that even the disguise she wore wasn't fit to her like whatever tight thing she wore under it. Yet, despite the double layer her footsteps were habitually silent - even though she was announcing herself.

"Excuse me.", she proclaimed. Like it was fact more than a request or even a demand. She even spoke in some just off accent. Probably born a vault dweller who's dialect drifted apart from the surface' over the past two hundred years. But not Vault 88's or even 111's even though he had only met one person from 111. But her tone told him that she was accustomed to people listening to her. And a road that far should have taken that type of command out of her unless she had built it back up on the outside. Was she from Far Harbor or the Capital Wastes? She certainly had that sterner stuff that islanders' were said to be made out of. On the other hand, only vault he heard of from Far Harbor was the newly discovered one under the hotel that only had robots. If her were a betting man, he would suppose she was a tough enough cookie to get through Brotherhood terrirtory to the Spike Down - but he was a detective, not a gambler. And detectives dealt in facts.

Wonder how many more she would give him before he had to start prying them out of her. From the way her eyes darted across the office instead of holding a questioning gaze on him, he could tell she was up for some lie. Everyone that met a synth that couldn't pass for human acting like one at least gave him the once over, giving their brain time to confirm the decision to treat him like one. But her eyes darted over her environment, trying to pick up on anything that would sell what she was about to tell him better. Islanders rarely lied, at least to main landers, relying on their confidence in their superior toughness to do the talking for them. Odds on the Capital Wastes were getting better.

But what did she have to lie about? And to a detective in his office? It couldn't have been to get to him, he was right their behind his office manager. But then again, from the way she stood with that one foot slightly behind the other and that trouble handling body she was obviously a melee fighter not a gunslinger. Did she think she needed to get past Ellie? Ellie could look like a harder nose than she really was from dealing with the criminals that came to the office trying to intimidate him off a case. Best to move her out of the line of fire between his pistol and Mrs. Hard Ass from the Capital Wastes.

Wait - he had no business from the Capital Wastes yet. Their was no reason for her to come here to scare him off of something or put and end to his looking into anything. (Like he was looking into anything. Business had been so slow since the General and the Silver Shroud put the raiders on two separate notices.) And if she was hired to scare him off...well, hiring someone from the Capital Wastes would make sure he didn't have a bell around the cat's neck but also would put him on extra guard against an unknown and would be so expensive that anyone who could hire her would know better. And being from the Capital Wastes, she wasn't going to be connected to one of his cold cases. After all, missing children taken back during the bad old days and survived might grow up into the hardass he had on his hands but didn't have vault accents from the Capital Wastes.

That made her a client. And if she was a client, and she had come up from the Capital Wastes, either it was for his skills or his location. Brotherhood stuck their nose in everything they could - he couldn't imagine that you couldn't find a professional busybody down in the Capital Wastes with the likes of Talon Company and the boys in power armor drenching the place in people lacking in social skills. She had to want something only found in the Commonwealth. Something that the Minutemen couldn't...or wouldn't provide.

What would that be? Their job was to take a damsel's in distress word like orders, and for all her ability to cut a man she wasn't bad on the eyes. She must want something on one of them. Who? Any corruption he would have heard about by now with Pepper and even himself being so close to the top woman. Any unit that did something unsavory would have been sold out to by another unit. Unless the one she wanted info on outranked anyone she could approach. Brandis? No, she traveled from the Capital Wastes so if she made it from a road unit to a town she could just duck into Home Base where the Minutemen don't answer to Motorpool. The only person Home Base and Motorpool answered to was the General herself.

A tough broad accustomed to people taking her orders from a vault in the Capital Wastes wanted information on the General. Was she a Brotherhood agent - no they, didn't have a subtle bone in their body, the training to run a power armor on a super mutant would have tempered that bone into something more blatant. Was she an outsourced mercenary? That could be, but that would also mean that the Brotherhood was becoming desperate enough to fund others with their own caps. Who knows what the hell a military order would be desperate enough to do before admitting that someone else was more qualified. Did she come to take advantage of the knowledge he had of the General or assume he was such a great ally as to risk assassinating him.

He couldn't take the chance on thinking any longer. He had to get Ellie out of his line of fire before this dame could cut through her to get to him. He had to keep her from acting. But without a fight.

3

The Lone Wanderer walked into Valentine's Detective Agency and said, "Excuse me."

Nick Valentine called out, "I'll take it Ellie. This problem solver from a vault in the Capital Wastes wants private information on the General, or at least that's what she's being paid by the Brotherhood of Steel to disguise herself as a trader to get. As long as she keeps her blade to herself, we can talk."

"How did...you...?", the Lone Wanderer started. "Were you tipped off?"

Nick covered any tell of his surprise with the prepared response of "And here I thought I was a detective that was pretty good at my job."

2

That next clue had dropped. This woman thought she might have been sold out. So she knew someone else that she didn't fully trust knew what she was up to. But her phrasing - 'tipped', not 'squealed to' or 'sold out'. She thought he could already be in on it. Who could have just 'tipped' him off on something like this? Well, no friend of the General if she was hired by the Brotherhood of Steel to...