"So report to the flight deck, an operation is about to launch and I insist you be part of it."

 

I'd expected a lot of different complications that might come up during this visit, but getting drafted into fighting for the Brotherhood wasn't one I was expecting. 

 

"Elder Maxson," I said, "I appreciate the opportunity to prove my good intentions, but I have to ask for some details about this operation. As much as I'd like to forge an understanding with you, I'm not willing to do it at the price of our existing alliances. Who exactly are you attacking?"

 

His eyes narrowed a little, and I'm pretty sure the message that was sending was that Arthur Maxson wasn't accustomed to having his orders questioned. Still, a moment later he smiled thinly. "If this is an attack on your allies," he said, "we have some serious problems. We're attacking the mutants who've taken over Fort Strong."

 

I laughed at that. "Forgive me for questioning you, then. I'm always up for shooting super mutants." And, I didn't add, the fact that they were squatting in one of the bases where Nate had served didn't really sit well with me.

 

"Good," Alexia said. "I'll introduce you to our quartermaster. I'm sure you'll want to get outfitted before we launch. If you'll follow me?"

 

Maxson was peering through slitted eyes again. I wondered if his relationship with Gray wasn't quite as close and trusting as they projected to their troops. Either way, a chance to check on my supplies seemed like a good idea in any event, and I followed her lead. Casdin and Winter fell in being me, and the four of us ascended from the command center into the main working area of the massive airship.

 

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around you surviving," I admitted as we walked.

 

 

"It took me a long time as well," she admitted. Gray's voice was scratchy, but it wasn't exactly 'elderly.' She pressed on, "don't let anyone tell you that survivor's guilt isn't real. It took me decades to accept that what happened to me wasn't, in some way, my fault. Of course, that might have been a blessing in disguise. Those were the years when I was running away from the Commonwealth, and I never would have met the Brotherhood if I hadn't made that journey."

 

"It sounds like you hold them in high esteem," I said, probing a little.

 

Behind me, Winter was helping Heather up over the lip of the ladder, and I could hear he whispering, "this is fucking amazing..."

 

Gray seemed to think on my words a little before she responded. "They're my second family, and especially the Maxsons. Jonathan Maxson was the first person who unconditionally accepted me, flaws an all," she waved one of her mechanical hands towards me for emphasis, "and helping his son realize his legacy is the very smallest thing I can offer in return. Actually, speaking in realizing legacies, I'm curious: why are you carrying my mother's legacy into this world?"

 

"I'm not," I said. "She changed me, she forced her ideas on me, she shattered who I'd been before. So I took that legacy away from her, and I made it my own. If I have my way, no one will remember Valery Gray in the future. Every idea and feeling that she conditioned me to feel, when people think about this history of the Commonwealth, they'll remember me, not her, when they think about them."

 

Alexia's shoulders tightened a little as I said that, and she asked again, more tightly, "why didn't you just put that all behind you and start over? Why accept, why live, this?" she swept her hand up and down my exposed torso. "You realize, don't you, that this wasn't some high-minded egalitarian gesture by her, right? It was about power. Her power over others. It's why you never had a choice. It's why... I never had a choice. It was her rules, her way, and there was no alternative. I hear that's how it is in Concord now, too."

 

"I won't deny it," I said, "though in point of fact, there is a choice in our community. Our people aren't prisoners, they don't have to be part of our community if they don't like the way we live."

 

She hissed her response, "that's a false choice at best, and you know it. You're putting forward your... lifestyle as the price to live in a safe settlement, to have clean water, to have enough food to eat, to have your Minuteman guns between them and the abominations that roam the wasteland. Your choice isn't on whether or not they like your lifestyle. The choice is on whether they choose death or debasement."

 

I stopped, turning to her. "I know I'm your guest, so I'll keep this short. I don't debase people. I'm not your mother, and I never will be. Never. If you don't believe me, maybe you should come to Concord and see what life is really like there. Or go talk to your friend Supervisor White down at Graygarden."

 

As I said this, Alexia was tensing, like she was getting ready to shout at me, but when I mentioned White it disrupted her buildup. "White is still operational?" she asked, her eyes growing wider.

 

I nodded, and she continued, "what about my father's workshop?"

 

"Still there," I affirmed. "The robots maintain it like... kind of a shrine."

 

"Amazing," she said. "All this time, I thought I'd find nothing but pain here in the Commonwealth. I might take you up on that offer, Ellison. But we're here. I'll introduce you. This is Proctor Teagan. He'll get you outfitted for the mission."

 

 

"Step forward... well, not knight, are you?" Teagan said. "I've never had the honor of equipping an allied civilian before. What do I call you?"

 

I shrugged, "officially, it's Overseer Ellison, but that sounds a little pretentious. I'd prefer 'Charley,' but that's probably too far a swing in the other direction. Everyone else is going with Ms. Ellison, if that works for you."

 

"Alright, Ms. Ellison, then step forward. Even though they locked me in this blasted cage, I promise I won't bite."

 

"It does look a little uncomfortable in there," I admitted.

 

"It's not that bad. This is the stowage depot, and I, as the Handmaiden astutely pointed out, am Proctor Teagan, the quartermaster. The powers that be have me locked in here so I can keep an eye on the Brotherhood's valuables. If you need to stock up on supplies before a mission, this is the place to do it."

 

"As a matter of fact," I admitted, "I need to do just that. How do we do this? I just pick out what I want off the wall?"

 

Teagan laughed, "maybe if you were a run of the mill knight. But since you're a 'foreign ally,' you need to pay. Prewar cash is fine, bottlecaps do in a pinch. Or we can barter, if you insist."

 

"What about the old .38 calibur cash?" I'd noticed that the going exchange rate for .38 ammo was one cap per bullet, and the stuff was so plentiful it might as well be the de facto third currency."

 

"Like I said," Teagan grunted, "I'll barter. Purified water, too, if you want to talk unofficial currency. God knows we need plenty of that. And on that topic, if you're looking to make some caps on the side, I might have some work to, um, outsource."

 

Alexia Gray raised an eyebrow, "is that so?"

 

Teagan scowled, "Oh, no no no no no, it's nothing like you're thinking. I just wanted her to handle some of the heavy lifting with the farms. You know I've already got orders to set up our logistics train, but... I'm stuck up here manning the one-man zoo, right? What am I supposed to do, call them on the phone?"

 

Gray seemed unconvinced. "We didn't bring Ms. Ellison here to work as a mercenary. I'd like you to run whatever you have in mind past me before you start asking for favors."

 

"Fine," he conceded, then he turned his attention back to me and said, "after you're done with the meet and greet, we can talk more. In the meantime, you need anything? Guns? Mods? Ammo?"

 

"Ammo, maybe," I said. "Though if I'm going to be dropping in power armor, I'd like to at least discuss what sort of heavy weapons you have. My laser rifle is good, but pretty light as far as armored weapons go."

 

"Well, first let me give you the bad news," he said, "I'm not authorized to sell you that tactical nuke launcher." 

 

"Maybe for the best," I acknowledged, "there is such thing as overkill. So what's the good news?"

 

"The good news is that I've got plenty more for you to choose from. Gatling laser, more or less standard issue. Good at all ranges, all targets. Or if you'd prefer to work up close, I've got a minigun fitted out for close combat." He gestured at a monstrosity of a gun that appeared to have spinning blades fitted to its barrel. "Nothing shreds ghouls and muties like this baby."

 

 

"And what's behind door C?" I asked.

 

"Got a few missile launchers," he said, "but I'm short on targeting modules, so you'd be firing over iron sights. You have experience working with a weapon system like that?"

 

"Unfortunately not," I admitted. "Sounds like maybe the gatling laser is the right choice. Anything else you think I'll be interested in?"

 

"The main thing is the leg on that power armor they're issuing you," he said. "The actuator is a mess. I've got the parts to fix it, and if you ask Ingram nicely, she can get it installed before the drop starts."

 

"Sounds like a good idea," I admitted. "And on that topic, you got any paint?"

 

"Oh," he laughed, "you're on of those power armor jockeys. I've got half a dozen pots of hexavalent chromium coat if you want to really stand out. Just don't eat the paint chips, OK?"

 

"I was thinking more blue and yellow. Vault-Tec like."

 

Alexia frowned as I said that. "I think it might be better if you leave your suit in Brotherhood colors for now. It would send... the wrong message if you make a show of setting yourself apart."

 

"You heard the Handmaiden, Ms. Ellison," Teagan said, "my advice is her advice."

 

My paint-related hopes dashed, we got down to negotiating payment. Fortunately, Winter had brought a decent slush fund of caps for just such a contingency, so we didn't have to do too much dickering. I threw in some medical supplies and a few technical journals the salvage crew had found during their first day on the job at Kendall Hospital, and we had a deal. Teagan did get one thing wrong though: Proctor Ingram had no interest in helping me fix up the leg on that power armor - I ended up doing the grunt work there, though I admit is was a good opportunity to get to know the equipment before I took it out for a spin.

 

 

I noticed two things while I worked on my assigned suit. First off, they hadn't given me one of the advanced looking suits of the sort that Danse had. Despite it's Brotherhood livery, this suit was clearly an old National Guard surplus model. Before the war, Nate had told me that these T-45 types had become obsolete almost as soon as they hit the field, and I thought it said something about just how much trust the Brotherhood was actually vesting in me. Then again, what was obsolete against the Chinese would probably be just fine against super mutants. The second thing I noticed was that if I was going to do maintenance on this thing out in the field, I needed to learn a lot more about how to keep it operational. With help from Winter and a sympathetic Scribe, we got the actuator changed out, but I was way over my head in terms of any more extensive work. 

 

I won't go blow-by-blow on the rest of the introductions - Teagan kind of set the tone for all of them: a little arrogant, a little salty, welcoming but quick to comment on the fact that I wasn't a Brotherhood member... but also conspicuously silent on my appearance and the appearance of my companions. That said, more than once I caught people checking me out surreptitiously, and I had a strong suspicion that the crew had been briefed ahead of time to not make a big deal about the way I was dressed. That raised a few questions in my mind, because the Brotherhood otherwise seemed very conservative in their beliefs - indeed, talking to their chief medical officer he mentioned that their medical examinations involve not just physical examination but also mental and moral screening. And by 'moral,' he was talking about feeling hesitancy to kill on command because of quote-unquote misguided sentiment.

 

I figured the chances that this bunch wasn't silently judging me for my appearance was right about zero, and I found it interesting that they were keeping it to themselves. My best guess at the time was that Teagan's comments about purified water and working out agreements with local farms were just scratching the surface of a deep iceberg of logistical problems. Regardless of how they felt about my choice in clothing, they needed good relations with Concord. For the moment I just filed that thought away, but in doing so it had a big mental post-it note saying 'leverage!' on it.

 

Once we'd met the department heads, Alexia Gray parted ways with us. She directed me to suit up and head to the flight deck. Once she was out of earshot, Casdin said to me, "I'm not sure what I think about Maxson. I'm not sure if he's really impressive... or just a giant asshole."

 

 

"I'm not sure what to think of him either," I said - though that wasn't completely true. As I mentioned earlier, I harbored some very deep misgivings about Maxson, and this little introductory tour had only entrenched those concerns. "Time will tell, I guess. Want to help me get into this armor?"

 

The mounting-up process wasn't actually too difficult. These suits open in the back and the operator just steps in, which made for a much faster equipping process than the European powersuits. Once I was in, I needed a few minutes to calibrate the controls and the displays, and to hook up the targeting and charge monitor feeds for the gatling laser, but everything went smoothly. Part way through, Danse came to check on me, and he seemed impressed with how I was doing.

 

"Most rookies need a few hours to get suited up for the first time," he said. "Do you have some prior experience I don't know about?"

 

"Just working with the powersuit that Winter's wearing. You remember that. Full-on power armor like this is a new experience for me."

 

"Well, then you're a natural. I'm really regretting not doing a better job convincing you to join us."

 

 

Danse checked the seals and fittings on the back of my armor, and once he was satisfied I wasn't going to kill myself, we both proceeded to the flight deck. Maxson was there, conducting a final mission brief for the crews.

 

"Ah, Ellison, you made it. I'm glad. Join us," he said, beckoning us to join. Then he waved expansively in the direction of Revere Beach.

 

"That, over there, is Fort Strong. It is infested with super mutants. Having those aberrations of nature close enough to smell is making me sick to my stomach. To make matters worse, they're sitting on top of a massive stockpile of tactical nuclear weapons we could use in our campaign. Brothers and sisters," he said, now clearly addressing all the assembled soldiers, "I want you to head over there and wipe out everything that moves. When you have done that, take control of the stockpile. Understood?"

 

 

Oh, I understood alright. I had no love for super mutants, not one drop, but I had some pretty serious concerns about what Arthur Maxson would do with a giant stockpile of nuclear weapons. This wasn't really the place for me to say no and ask for a ride home, but I was going to have to watch the Brotherhood very carefully from now on.

 

"Ad victoriam!" the crowd howled, giving me a suitable excuse to say nothing.

 

Maxson seemingly noticed my lack of enthusiasm, and he approached me after, speaking more quietly. "Look, I appreciate that you're eager to take the fight to the Institute, but it'll have to wait. The Brotherhood cannot allow those abominations to have a nuclear arsenal at their fingertips."

 

Put in those terms, I have to admit that I was just a tiny bit less uncomfortable about this operation. It was definitely a case of just reframing the threat those warheads represented, but at least I could communicate with the Brotherhood. Outside of Carnal - who seemed to very much be a rare exception - I'd never been able to negotiate with the super mutants. As far as I could tell, they put me in the same category as livestock: fit only to be slaughtered and eaten.

 

"It'll be a pleasure to exterminate that mutant filth," Danse added.

 

"Now," Maxson said, "your vertibirds are on standby. Fully armed, and ready to depart. Join us as we carry our message to Fort Strong and wipe those dirty mutants from the face of the earth! Dismissed!"

 

Even if I hadn't wanted to join the attack force, I think I would have been carried along by the tide of armored bodies. In minutes, we were airborne, cutting across Massachusetts Bay on a fast approach to Deer Island - and the fort.

 

Our landing zone was definitely hot. Not only were we taking a lot of ground fire, but a try huge super mutant was tossing heavy chunks of debris up towards us. I did not want to find out what would happen if one of those hit our rotor, and I got on the minigun to try and take him out.

 

 

The behemoth just soaked up hit after hit. I kept the gun trained on him, watched the barrel go from cherry red to bright gold, and he seemed to be staggering - but then one of his rocks hit the rotor. The blades shattered violently, and our chopper started to spin out in tight loops. The pilot got us over the water at least, and the vertibird didn't explode on impact, but my armor was heavy enough that I immediately started to sink to the bottom. I wasn't sure just how much of an air supply the old T-45s had, and so I started pushing along the bottom towards shore as fast as I could.

 

Breaking the surface of the water, I flipped on the armor's headlights and rejoined the fight, gatling laser in hand. I didn't have to wait to use it - the mutants had clearly watched us go down and they were waiting for us. 

 

 

It was a brutal and frankly terrifying fight. My armor took so many hits, I'm sure I would have been dead in minutes if I'd gone in with just the powersuit. Still, the Brotherhood troops were disciplined and organized, and we slowly pushed forward through the ruins, taking down the mutants either individually or, in the case of the larger and tougher ones, with concentrated fire.

 

Of course, clearing the ruins was only the first part of the battle. Once we'd neutralized the resistance there, we had to penetrate the fort itself. If I'd thought the ruins were claustrophobic, using power armor to fight inside a building scaled for normal-sized people was an order of magnitude worse. On more than one occasion, I found myself wishing I'd taken that close-combat minigun.

 

I should also point out that by the time we'd finished working through the fort, I'd lost any lingering question about whether wiping out the super mutants was a good idea. For all Maxson's rhetoric made me rebel against the idea, these mutans clearly 'had it coming.' The fort was a veritable abattoir, filled with the remains of dozens, maybe hundreds of people. The jury was still out on whether or not Arthur Maxson would be a better custodian for the nukes, but these mutants clearly needed to die.

 

 

Of course, just because they needed to die didn't mean they died easily. We blasted through the ground level of the fort pretty easily, but once we got into the basement we started to encounter some serious resistance. In particular, we ran into one mutant - dressed in a filthy business suit - who was carrying, and rather effectively using a rocket launcher. He almost got Heather; she only survived by diving through a doorway at the last minute, and he damaged one of the legs on my suit with a well-placed shot. Winter really bailed us out - she used the mobility of her powersuit to get his attention and avoid his shots while I circled around from the side. Once I had him flanked, it my gatling laser burnt him to a crisp.

 

 

Heather pulled herself out of the office where she'd been hiding and examined the aftermath of that fight. "Do you think maybe the muties really are smart?" She posed. "Do you think they actually could have used those nukes?"

 

"I don't know, but I think I'm glad we aren't going to have to find out."

 

I could still hear some shooting elsewhere in the basement, but it looked like our segment was clear. Medics were checking on one armored trooper who had gone down, and I saw Danse in the distance talking with a Scribe.

 

"Are you OK, Heather?" I asked, "I don't think I appreciate how dangerous this place turned out to be."

 

 

"I thought I was a goner when the plane went down," she admitted, "but somehow we made it. Definitely didn't hurt that Danse is a fucking machine. We were lucky to have him at our back."

 

"You're right on that one. Speaking in which," I turned to look over to Danse, "Paladin Danse, should we push deeper?"

 

Danse called back, "take five and catch your breath, then we'll move on. The other teams are still reducing the remaining mutants."

 

"Well, you heard the man," I said to Casdin. "Anything on your mind?"

 

"I heard that these bases sometimes had secret labs where they dissect aliens. Can you imagine if we found an alien spaceship down here?"

 

"Aliens? Like UFOs and little green men?" I asked.

 

"They're real! An alien spaceship crashed in the Capitol Wasteland. It could happen here, too!"

 

I shrugged, "I don't know, back in my day, there was a lot of talk about aliens but never any proof. Tell you what, though, if I ever encounter an alien, you'll be the first to know."

 

She grinned at that, "I'll hold you to that!"

 

"OK," Danse called, "floor's clear! Let's move in on the arsenal."

 

We advanced deeper into facility, me in front and Danse and Winter right behind me. Heather, demonstrating excellent judgement, took up the rear. After making our way through a half-collapsed antechamber, we found ourselves in a long hallway of offices. I held down the central corridor while my companions fanned out, looking for access cards, keys, anything that would help us enter the arsenal.

 

"Hey sweetie," Winter said, "I think I found something you'll want to see."

 

I turned, and Winter was emerging from one of the offices with a wad of papers in her hands. She offered it to me to examine, and I could see that it was a hand-drawn comic, barely held together by rusted staples.

 

 

I laughed at the crudely illustrated cover. "How many red flags do you think Doctor Cain has," I asked my wife-to-be. 

 

Winter flipped through the pages, chuckling. "At least two, I think."

 

"Oh, is that the Wasteland Survival Guide?" Heather asked, joining us, "those are great, once you filter through all the rumors and bullshit. I swear to God, half of what's in them is just made up."

 

Before the discussion could run any further, Danse snapped us back to the present. "What did you find? Intelligence?" Before we could answer, he loomed over us. He'd taken his helmet off, and I could see him frowning. "Throw that filth away," he said. "It's unprofessional to look at degenerate literature like that."

 

Winter stuffed the comic in her bag, causing Danse to scowl further, but he didn't seem to have anything further to say on the topic. I think he tried to stare down Winter, but the featureless faceplate of her powersuit made that difficult. 

 

"We ready to move on?" I asked. That defused the standoff and Danse nodded, gruffly adding, "yes, let's not waste any more time."

 

Not much further, and we started seeing signs that we were almost to the armory. First, the offices gave way to lockup coops filled with tools and storage shelves. Then, we found a machine shop with partially - and somewhat concerningly, a few fully - assembled small nuclear bombs.

 

 

Danse shook his head when he caught up. "Those two bombs look fully assembled. Did the mutants do this? Were they that close to having operational nuclear weapons? If we'd waited another hour, the landing zone would have been a death trap."

 

"Looks like we made it just in time," I agreed.

 

"Scribe Matthew!" Danse called, "weapons located! Bring your team forward and secure the munitions!"

 

"Yes sir," a voice called in the distance. A few moments later, and a number of technicians poured into the room to confiscate the weapons.

 

After that, we entered the warehouse proper - rows and rows of transit cases identical to the one full of disassembled warheads we'd found in the machine shop.

 

"Look at this place," Danse said. "You must hate these mutants as much as I do."

 

 

"Absolutely," I said. "Wiping them out was a pleasure." If Danse had made that comment while we were back on the airship or even while we were fighting in the ruins outside the base, I might have offered a more... nuanced response. But seeing the carnage they'd wrought on their victims upstairs, and then seeing how they were so close to being armed with nuclear weapons? No matter what philosophical differences I had with the Brotherhood, we were completely on the same page about the Fort Strong super mutants.

 

"I wish all of mankind shared your sentiment," he said. "These monstrosities are just another example of man blindly taking a step forward only to take two steps back. I've been fighting for years to put a stop to this madness and just when I thought we were getting the upper hand, along come the Synths. I've seen... you've seen what super mutans do to people. Can you imagine what Synths would do if they ever got the upper hand?"

 

"Do you really think they'd do," I waved my hand towards the elevator, "that? Even when they've attacked me directly, I've never sensed that kind of sadism. Never seen displays like those mutilated corpses upstairs."

 

"It would be Armageddon. And the end of everything we hold dear," Danse said it with total conviction. "It might not be so ugly on the outside. Maybe they'd herd people into camps, into clean and efficient killing factories, when they decided they didn't need humans around any more. But if the Synths take control, mankind will become extinct in the Commonwealth."

 

 

Danse let out a sigh, then said, "Look, I don't mean to bore you with my rhetoric. I just want you to understand how important the Brotherhood's mission is."

 

"Don't apologize," I said. "You're telling me how you really feel, and I appreciate that."

 

"Thank you. Anyway, that's enough of that. What's important is you got the job done and secured the warheads. How's your armor holding up?"

 

I pointed to where the missile hit me. "Caught some anti-armor in the last big fight - it's going to need repairs. But I'm all in one piece under the shell."

 

"You should head back up to the Prydwen and talk to Ingram. Once she's taken care of your suit, report back to Elder Maxson."

 

We left the base and caught a vertibird back to the airship, arriving in the predawn twilight just before 0600. 

 

 

"That was a wild ride," said Heather. "I don't know if I want to thank you for bringing me along, or curse you out. Like, I think that's the most concentrated excitement I've had in a single night... but I'm also pretty sure I've almost died more times in the last three hours than in the last three years."

 

Winter had an answer to. "I'm leaning towards both. I'm a mechanic, not a soldier, and after that I don't think I want to be a soldier. But fuck me, that got my blood pumping."

 

I chuckled at that. "Once we're back home, fucking you is definitely something I can arrange for."

 

"Ew, too much information," Heather groaned.

 

"OK," I said, "I need to drop off my armor for repairs. Then... the really hard part starts - I'm pretty sure Maxson is going to want to negotiate immediately."

 

"You need a spritz from the power suit?" Winter asked, "If Heather can give me a little help with the connectors, I think I can trick it into injecting some stimulants into you without me having to get the whole suit off."

 

"No," I laughed, "but thank you. I think adrenaline will do the job for now, and I've got plenty of that in my system still."