Before I tell you what happened next, I should mention a little detail that I learned when I visited Red Tourette's bunker. Remember the church near Sunshine Tidings where Luna had been cleaning up? Concealed under all the rubble was a trap door connecting to a long tunnel - and that tunnel led to the basement of the Federal Ration Stockpile. Consequently, it shouldn't come as too much of a surprise that the three of us - Piper, Noelle, and me - were woken up in the middle of of the night when one of Tourette's people showed up in the middle of our camp without first coming through one of our checkpoints.

 

What was surprising was what the man had to say. "We found your scouts," he panted, "they're holed up in the gun shop at Forest Grove."

 

"Hang on," I asked, still a little annoyed to be woken up after such a nice session with my companions, "how do you know this?"

 

"Red sent a raiding party down there two days ago," he said.

 

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, "do I want to know why?"

 

"She heard about your missing scouts, and she thought that if she found them it would... make you like us better?" he offered.

 

I rolled my eyes, but I could think of a lot worse answers he could have given. "OK, so what's got you winded? It looks like you ran the whole way here."

 

"I did. We need your help. See, now our guys are holed up there too. The whole town's crawling with ferals. Our guys can't get out. Yours neither."

 

I turned to Dirk. "Wake up your squad. It looks like we're going to move on Forest Grove sooner than we planned. Piper, can you help me get the powersuit on?"

 

She nodded, and Fletcher chimed in, "I can help too. I've been studying the suit since I arrived."

 

We didn't waste any time moving to relieve Preston's scouts. It was a tough march, complicated by torrential rain, but eventually the ruins of Forest Grove started to come into view.

 

 

The only noise I could hear was the hammering rain, and that concerned me. If our guys were here, holding off a horde of ferals, I'd expect to hear gunshots, maybe even explosions from grenades. Under these circumstances, silence was not a good sign.

 

Dirk's squad fanned out to secure the perimeter of the town while I led Piper and Nick in search of the gun store that Red's man had talked about. We found it easily enough on the downtown strip. We also found the scouts and the ex-raiders. Unfortunately, we didn't find them alive. The group seemed to have made a final stand some time ago before the ghouls tore them apart.

 

 

"Fuck," I muttered. "We should have got here sooner."

 

"Don't beat yourself up," Nick said. "You all are in a risky business, and sometimes things go wrong. Nothing you can do about it. I think more important's that Red's people went down fighting side by side with the Minutemen. Maybe they're serious about joining you after all."

 

"Yeah," I admitted, "that thought had crossed my mind. I need to talk to Red again, understand her better."

 

"First things first," the synth observed, "I think you've got a ghoul problem to take care of."

 

And that was certainly true. Even now, the eerie silence was starting to break. All around, I could hear distant sounds of movement, far-off unintelligible noises. And then the shooting started - all along the edge of town I could hear the Minutemen opening fire. I made my way up to the roof and fired down at the growing mass of ghouls below us, and the Minutemen quickly dressed their lines for better covering fire. Once we'd beat back the first big rush of ferals, we went in squads house by house to clear them out.

 

 

The operation lasted well into the afternoon, but at the end silence had returned to the streets. As we did one more sweet for any ghouls that had avoided us earlier, I heard a muffled voice call out.

 

"Hold your fire, I'm a friendly."

 

Turning, I saw a man squeezing past a barricaded doorway, dressed in a Minutemen uniform. His face was obscured by a gas mask and he was caked in dirt, but I didn't see any obvious signs of injury.

 

 

"So you're not a shambler," he mumbled, then more clearly he said. "Good thing I didn't shoot you... that would have been awkward. Did General Garvey send you?"

 

"I'm Ellison, from Concord. We came on our own when we heard you were pinned down here. Are you OK? Are you injured?"

 

"Not yet," he admitted. "Could have been real bad though. Real bad. 

 

"What are you doing out here?" I pressed. "You're the only survivor we've found."

 

 

"Garvey sent us down here to try and make contact with the locals. Guess you knew that part already, though. Problem was, we couldn't find any locals when we got here. The LT had us fan out to search the houses, told us to rendezvous back at the gun shop if there was trouble. And ho, boy, was there trouble."

 

"That's when you ran into the ghouls?"

 

"Yeah, it was like they all hit us at once. I tried to get back to the others, but I was cut off... ended up hiding in this boarded-up house until, well, until you came."

 

"Don't take this the wrong way, um..?"

 

"Joseph Bird. But call me Birdie."

 

"OK, Birdie, like I said, don't take this the wrong way, but how am I supposed to know you aren't a deserter? It looks like things got really ugly here."

 

"None taken, ma'am. You don't know half how bad it got. Even if I was the type to cut and run, there wasn't any time. I heard you fighting them, you know how thick those fuckers were on the ground."

 

 

"Alright, follow me for now, Birdie. Let's see if we can salvage something from this clusterfuck."

 

Dirk was back at the gun shop, trying to work the scout team's radio. When he saw me, he shook his head ruefully. "Sorry, boss, this radio's wrecked. Probably got smashed up in the first attack, from the looks of it. We're going to have to send someone back to get word to General Garvey."

 

I nodded. "Send a runner now. We'll spend a few days trying to set up a defensible position, but we need fresh reinforcements sent here. Once they're situated, I want your squad to return to Sunshine Tidings."

 

"No complaints here, this place gives me the creeps, he admitted.

 

Birdie pointed out a few points of interest - notably the series of catwalks the previous inhabitants had put up between the roofs the buildings. "This time around, we probably want to stay off of street level. We can use the roofs to stay out of reach, I think."

 

"Speaking in the previous settlers, any sign of them?"

 

"Nothing. At first I thought the ghouls had got them, but there would have been remains, you know? I think they'd already cleared out and the ghouls just moved into the abandoned buildings."

 

Piper suggested, "Rust Devils got them?"

 

"That would make sense, but I'm wondering about those Gunners we found sniffing around on the dam. I'm starting to think that we may have seriously underestimated their activities here."

 

Birdie shrugged, "we didn't see any signs of Gunners or Rust Devils, but the ghouls hit us so fast that we didn't get a chance to look at every possibility."

 

"I've got to say, Birdie," I cut in, "you don't seem all that broken up about your team getting killed."

 

He waved back towards the house he'd been hiding in. "I had a lot of time shut up in that house to think things over. Them probably being dead, me probably being dead, it get me to a pretty dark place. But now I'm at peace with things. This world doesn't have any time for folks who step on her toes, and we stepped damn hard on them when we rolled in the way we did."

 

Setting up the outpost could have been a lot worse. Forest Grove was a sea of trash and debris on par with Concord, and the ASAM sensors directed Dirk's men to all the supplies they needed to set up a small camp. They also erected a watchtower on the end of main street, right at the edge of the flooded part of town. Birdie suggested using the raised platform to grow some vegetables in addition to watching over the town, and Dirk agreed that it sounded like a good idea.

 

When nightfall came, we had a little trouble with sporadic ghoul attacks. Nothing concentrated like before, but individuals and small groups were clearly able to get in close enough to harass the camp. I helped Dirk and his men repel the stragglers, but I made a mental note that the camp would need some sort of automated defenses.

 

 

When morning came, I found myself confronted with some problems. Dirk's runner made it back right at dawn, and he confirmed that Preston was forming up a new squad to take over as the permanent garrison. The bigger problem, however, was supplies. Supervisor Brown from Graygarden had told Preston in no uncertain terms that he would not run supplies down I-95 until we had fully secured Weston, leaving the outpost isolated. In the short run, I was confident the Minutemen could build a self-sufficient base here, but it wouldn't be much good strategically if it couldn't serve as a waystation for supplies to our planned base in or near Natick. 

 

There was another, more pressing issue too. Dirk pointed out the piles of dead ghouls his men had stacked up away from the camp.

 

"We need to have a way to dispose of these corpses," he explained. "Does the ASAM have instructions for, I don't know, a crematorium or something?"

 

I hooked up my Pip-Boy to one of the sensors and reviewed the unlocked plots. I was expecting to strike out, but deep in the municipal plans section I found an unlocked premium option for a 'funerary pyre site.' The short description extolled its virtues of allowing self-sufficient citizens to dispose of the dead following an emergency, without having to rely on the government. Dirk took a look, shrugged, and told me is seemed good enough. We anchored the sensor and his men got to work on gathering the scrap they needed to build it as soon as they finished their morning rations. 

 

While they worked on that, I found myself pondering the problem of supplies. The north dam had a set of locks for boats to navigate the changing water level, and the western one seemed to be level with the upstream water. I wondered if an alternative to traversing Weston would be to move supplies by water.

 

 

The immediate problem would be getting the doors of the lock open. They were almost certainly corroded into a frozen state, and even if they weren't I doubted I could easily provide the amount of power they needed to operate. We could try explosives, of course, but that brought its own hazards with it. I also examined the boat that was floating down in the bottom of the lock. Unfortunately, it was a total loss, so we wouldn't be able to refurbish it for moving supplies.

 

After a while, Piper and Nick came to check on me, and I explained to them my thinking. 

 

"Any ideas on how to make it work?" I asked.

 

 

Nick was the first one to answer. "You're probably right about needing to use explosives. But you're also right about maybe damaging the dam a lot more than you expected. I think you need to find an expert to help you on that score."

 

"There's a marina south of here, though I guess that won't help if you have to blast open the locks. Still, there has to be a working boat somewhere in the Commonwealth. Short term, though, I think we're out of luck on moving supplies by water."

 

The next afternoon, the advanced party from Preston's new squad arrived, and the two of them joined in with Dirk to finish setting up the rest of the camp. Notwithstanding Graygarden's concerns, they'd taken I-95 and encountered no problems, even skirting close to the water treatment plant to observe for signs of the super mutants returning. This gave me some hope, but I doubted one successful visit was enough for the robots to feel comfortable sending supplies. 

 

 

Until then, I was going to have to think outside the box. And I was increasingly thinking that my box was the Charles River. Would Vault 81 be willing to supply Forest Grove? We had briefly talked about a trade agreement during my first visit. Rounding up my companions, I asked Piper, "you pack a change of clothes? I think I'm going to take a trip across the river to talk with MacNamara about  supplies."

 

Piper shook her head, "no, I kind of dropped everything when we scrambled. I even left our toys back at the camp. But..." she hesitated a little.

 

"What's up?" I asked, "everything OK?"

 

"Well, it's just that this might be good. I... ah, I need to visit Winter. Get to know her better. So how about you and Nick visit Vault 81, and I'll make my way back to the Farm. Come see me when you're done here."

 

 

I wasn't super happy to part with Piper, but what she was saying was true. Especially after the little gift Winter had asked Noelle to deliver to us the night before we left Sunshine Tidings, it was indeed a good idea for Piper to reach out to her. 

 

"OK," I said, "but I'm going to miss travelling with you."

 

"Don't worry," she said, "Nick'll take good care of you."

 

I hugged her before we parted, whispering to her, "don't forget to stop at Sunshine Tidings and get your strap-on before you go to the Farm. You'll need it."

 

 

After I made sure Dirk didn't have any questions on my expectations for him in my absence, Nick and I crossed into Vault 81 territory. We were going to make a straight shot to the vault and check in with MacNamara, then - hopefully with a trade agreement in hand - return via Oberland Station and try to arrange a regular supply of food from them. 

 

However, as we approached the rail tracks, Nick cocked his head. "You hear that, Charley?"

 

I shook my head and he chuckled, "sorry, that was a dumb question. Tune your radio to AF95, sounds like trouble."

 

I did as he said, and a tinny but clearly female voice entered my ear. "This is scribe Haylen of reconnaissance squad Gladius. To any unit in transmission range: our unit has sustained casualties and we're running low on supplies. We're requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station. Automated message repeats. This is scribe..."

 

"Well," I said, "that's unusual. Also on our side of the line. What do you think, Nick? Should we take a detour?"

 

"You know I'm always up for a good mystery. Plus, that lingo? Got pre-war military all over it."

 

"I noticed," I concurred. 

 

"Might be more mercs set up in your back yard."

 

Thinking back, I also recalled that odd flag I'd seen over Cambridge towards the end of last year. "Now that you mention it, this wouldn't be the first strange activity I've seen up that way. I think we better check it out."

 

We cut north through Cumnock Woods and took the Anderson bridge into Cambridge. It wasn't hard to find the police station from there - the howl of shrieking ghouls and the strobe of laser bolts made for a pretty distinct signpost. 

 

"First Forest Grove and now here," Nick mused, "something's got the ghouls riled up."

 

That turned out to be an understatement. Cambridge was swarming. Before we even got to the police station, dozens of them were charging at us, screaming at the top of their lungs. I put down the first couple with my spike thrower, then I switched to my shotgun. Using the spike gun, I'd run out of ammo long before I ran out of ghouls.

 

 

 

"Jesus, they're everywhere. No wonder the police station's calling for evac." 

 

After an extended street fight, we broke through to the police station. It had been built up into a small fortified camp, but the ghouls were already over the walls. Soldiers - including some in hulking power armor - were trying to keep them out of the building. One of them shouted over a loudspeaker, "ad victoriam!" before charging into a mass of the creatures, literally pulverizing them with her power armor's fists.

 

As I entered the camp, I was pleased to hear someone at least say "hold your fire, that's a friendly," which I imagined would reduce the chances of me becoming a friendly fire casualty significantly. Likewise, I switched back to my spike gun, lest I wing someone with a stray bit of shotgun spread.

 

 

After what felt like ages of fighting, the tide of ghouls finally receded, and I found myself face-to-face with one of the power armor operators. The guy had lost his helmet at some point, and he considered me with a deeply skeptical face.

 

"We appreciate your assistance here, civilian, but what's your business here?"

 

"Before I answer that," I countered, "will you tell me who you are?" I'd noticed the sword-gears-and-eagle-wings symbol spray painted all over the base, and it gave me just as much of a fascistic, authoritarian vibe as it did the last time I saw it.

 

"In due time. If you want to stay in this compound, I suggest you answer my question."

 

 

Well, it was worth a try, I figured. Still, I didn't have anything to hide from these people, and so I answered.

 

"My name is Charlotte Ellison. I'm the Overseer of Vault 111 and I was supervising a security operation in Forest Grove. We intercepted your distress call and came to help."

 

"You're a Vault Dweller?" he asked, the surprise evident on his face. "Most people wouldn't admit to such a thing. I appreciate your honesty. If I appear suspicious, it's because our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we've been under constant fire. If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side."

 

 

I also appreciated his honesty. This guy had actually give away more information than he thought; the fact that he seemed to think Vault Dwellers were rare suggested he hadn't made it across the river, nor had he made it to the other side of Lexington. The fact that 'since he came to Commonwealth,' et cetera, told me he was an outsider. This felt a lot like I was talking to the advanced party for an invasion. But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. At a minimum, it was an opportunity to learn more.

 

"My first instinct is to help you. This is my home too, even if Cambridge is awfully far from the part of the region we've rebuilt. But I think you owe me an explanation first."

 

"Very well, I'm Paladin Danse. Brotherhood of Steel." 

 

I decided that this wasn't the time to make a wisecrack about Dungeons & Dragons, instead letting him continue his introduction.

 

"Over there is Scribe Haylen and Knight Rhys. We're on recon duty, but I'm a man down and our supplies are running low. I've been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but the signal strength is too low."

 

I nodded, "I could barely pick it up on the south side of the Charles."

 

The woman he'd identified as Haylen cut in. "Sir, if I may..."

 

 

"Proceed, Haylen," he said. That exchange set off some more alarm bells, but I forced myself to remain neutral. The powersuit's opaque mask helped with that, of course.

 

"I've done everything I can to modify the radio tower on the roof, but it just isn't enough. What we need is something that will boost the signal."

 

Danse considered that for a moment, then announced. "Our target is ArcJet Systems in Weston. We'll move up the priority of obtaining the deep range transmitter, then we'll use it to boost the system." 

 

Weston, huh? I thought. So right in my back yard. 

 

Meanwhile, Danse continued to rattle on, "we infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and then return here. So what do you say? Will you lend the Brotherhood of Steel your hand?"

 

I really didn't like the idea of having another heavily armed mercenary group operating so close to our settlements, and so I had to reluctantly table my trade mission to Vault 81 in order to keep an eye on these interlopers. "No time to waste," I said, "let's get moving."

 

"Outstanding," said Danse. He gathered up some spare fusion cells for his laser rifle and then led the way out of the compound. As he did that, I caught him giving Nick a really dirty look. That convinced me even more that these people weren't telling me the whole story, and... well, if you know any of your history at all, you know they weren't. 

 

The way out of Cambridge was just as fraught as the way in; even though the ghouls had fallen back from the police station, they were all over the city streets and we had to blast our way out. Danse's fire support, of course, made that considerably easier, but I still harbored no illusions about trying to return and take control of this city any time soon.

 

 

Once we cleared the city limits, he took a moment to confide in me. "I know that leaving the police station was a risk, but getting that transmitter up and running is our top priority now. If it was up to me, I'd relocate the team, but Scribe Haylen detected some disturbing energy reading in the area, and we have to investigate them. We don't know much about them, except that they're short lived and broadcast on frequencies that would require a very high level of technology. We're concerned that whoever, or whatever, is producing those readings could be a threat."

 

"Is that what you're here for? To neutralize a threat?" I asked.

 

"It might surprise you, but my team isn't the first to visit the Commonwealth. Over the last seven years, two other teams were sent here to gather technology. That's what we do - locate and safeguard precious - and often dangerous - technology. And I'm sure you can understand that - you obviously utilize advanced pre-war technology yourself."

 

"I take it things haven't exactly gone to plan," I probed.

 

"Ever since we arrived in the Commonwealth, we've had a target on our back. But despite our setbacks, I don't intend to give up."

 

We walked in silence for a while then, and after a lengthy hike the façade of ArcJet Systems finally appeared before us. 

 

"There shouldn't be any external security," Danse said, "so we'll head in through the front."

 

 

Just before I opened the door, Danse stopped me.

 

"Listen up, we do this clean, and quietly. No heroics. By the book. Understood?"

 

"Understood," I said.

 

"Outstanding." It was that final, emphatic pronouncement, that finally cemented who Danse reminded me of. He reminded me of the most gung-ho, most obnoxiously keyed up, of Nate's army friends. 

 

 

The inside of the building was thoroughly trashed. It was obvious that multiple waves of scavengers had come through here over the years, and at least the 'front office' parts of the building were stripped of anything valuable.

 

As we pressed deeper into the facility, Danse opined, "it was corporations like this that put the last nail in the coffin of mankind." Well, I couldn't disagree there. 

 

"They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they'd done." Also true.

 

 

After picking through the ruins for some time, we came across a room full of robot charging alcoves. The robots who had presumably occupied them in the past were scattered on the floor, scorched and blasted.

 

"Dammit," Danse muttered, "I'd hoped to avoid this."

 

"Explain," I prompted.

 

"Look at this - obviously a violent close quarters conflict, but not a drop of blood in sight. And no shell casings. It's obvious that this was the work of Institute Synths."

 

"Oh sure, blame the Synths," Nick groused.

 

"Keep your pet robot on a leash, Ellison. I only tolerate an abomination like him because you're helping us."

 

"Excuse me?" I asked, "Abomination?"

 

"I'm sorry," Danse said, a little too quickly, "I let my frustration get the better of me. But we have to be ready for a fight now. If the Synths are here - the Institute's Synths - they won't want to let us leave alive."

 

 

"Alright," I said, "I'll be on the lookout." That little bit of emotional leakage from Danse was interesting. What was his issue with Synths, I wondered.

 

Whatever it was, we met the Synths soon enough. Deep in the facility, we found a mag-locked door that didn't seem to have been breached yet. Danse surmised that we'd found the furthest extent the scavengers got, and after ferreting out a security password we got the door opened... right onto the sight of a pair of Synths disassembling some machinery. 

 

My instinct was to avoid a fight if we could, but Danse didn't give me the chance, going in guns blazing. I backed him up with the spike thrower, picking off one of the robotic humanoids who tried to flank him.

 

 

From that point forward, almost every room brought us a new battle. Fortunately, with my powersuit and Danse's power armor, it was mostly just a matter of advancing and picking targets. 

 

Parenthetically, as obviously artificial as the Synths were, they were also obviously male - their creators had taken the time to sculpt a fairly realistic looking penis and scrotum out of soft plastic. I wasn't sure what the purpose of such a feature was on a robot, but I had a creeping feeling it wasn't done for their emotional well-being. 

 

 

In any event, with that door open we were able to make our way much deeper into the facility, all the way to the test labs for their Mars spaceflight project. Now, I know the legends say that we incinerated a whole legion of Synths with a pre-war rocket booster but that's... a bit of exaggeration. We did however find the components that Danse was looking for. Once we'd extricated ourself from the building, Danse said, "well, that could have gone smoother, but mission accomplished."

 

"I thought we worked well as a team," I offered.

 

 

"Agreed. It's refreshing to work with a civilian who knows how to follow orders properly." And it's statements like that which ensure no one likes these ra-ra army types.

 

Nevertheless, he was grateful for my help - and once I handed the transmitter over to him he offered me his laser rifle as a reward. I was tempted to refuse, out of principle as much as politeness, but it was a really nice looking weapon and I decided to accept it in the spirit it was offered.

 

Danse said his farewells then, heading back towards Cambridge. When he was gone, Nick turned to me.

 

"Is it just me, or did that guy have a beef with me?"

 

 

"It was hard to miss it," I agreed. "Back when you were a cop, Nick, you ever have to deal with fascist types? Because those guys have 'fascism' written all over them."

 

"Now that you mention it," he said, "he's practically one of the stereotypes. Guy joins the army, super gung-ho and patriotic, sees what war's really like and decides it must be the fault of the Asians. Or if they're going old school, maybe the Jews. Either way, next thing you know he's out swinging a baseball bat during a so-called peaceful rally and we have to throw them all in the paddy wagon. That what you think they're up to? Gonna purify the Commonwealth for the white race?"

 

I considered it. "Not exactly, though now that you mention it, all the guys in that police station were white. And the whole knights and paladins thing isn't too far removed from the grand wizard or the imperial cyclops."

 

"Jesus Christ, thanks for reminding me those clowns existed. If there's one good thing that came from the war, is the Ku Klux Klan dying from radiation poisoning."

 

"My point is, they might not be here to 'protect the white race,' but fascists? They always have an out-group to demonize. Or more than one, if they're feeling frisky. And I'm guessing out-group number one is Synths."

 

"To be totally honest, Charley, that's probably not too bad a move on their part. I mean, I think I'm like the only Synth in the Commonwealth that doesn't have a 'shoot on sight' relationship with the Diamond City guards... or most everyone outside your little free-love commune."

 

I nodded. "Those sort of groups don't start with a hard sell. The Synths are perfect targets for them. There's already a history of folklore that demonizes them, they're already perceived as generally hostile, and the whole 'kidnapping and replacing people' shtick is a perfect focus for the strong enemy-weak enemy paradox."

 

"Now you're getting over my head," Nick admitted. "You wanna explain in smaller words?"

 

"OK, so most people say fascists are hypocrites because on one hand, they say their enemies are pathetic and weak, but on the other hand, they say their enemies are so strong that the only way to be safe is to totally destroy them."

 

"Yeah, I've heard that one before."

 

"It's a little more complicated. Most forms of fascism are deeply rooted in a hero-cult. In authoritarian forms of socialism, "there's often a whole identity built up on making sacrifices for the good of the state, because everyone's teaming up and working together. It minimizes the individual in favor of the society."

 

"Uh, huh."

 

"In fascism, it's different. The story is that the members of the in-group have to struggle and make sacrifices because they're heroes locked in a life-or-death struggle against the out-group. So instead of minimizing the individual, it's more that every individual can rise up and be a hero and be celebrated. And for that, the out-group has to be strong."

 

"So why do they always pick on people who're weaker than them."

 

"Well, the real reason is because it's easier to win when you do it that way. But the philosophy is that in some way or another, the out-group cheats. They don't play fair. And people have a deep-rooted fear and disdain for cheaters, and for people who fight dirty - like people who poison water supplies. There's a whole chunk of our brains that are just wired to detect cheating. And by engaging that sense, they key people up - even to violence - by making the out-groups seem like more of a threat than they are."

 

Nick shook his head, "but it's all bullshit, Charley."

 

"Yes," I agreed, "yes it is. And yet again and again in history, people fall for it. And I'm kind of worried that these Brotherhood guys are trying to get the same thing going again. We need to watch them very carefully, especially if they start setting up shop on our turf."

 

"Well," Nick said slowly, "you've successfully changed this adventure in my mind from a fun and exciting diversion to a very sinister portent of future events. Great work."

 

"I think we need to have a talk with MacNamara about these guys, too."

 

"On that, we are agreed," Nick said.

 

So on that happy note, we started our trudge back to the Anderson bridge and, from there, to our original destination. This wouldn't, of course, be the last we heard of the Brotherhood of Steel.