"Knight Tara Astlin, Brotherhood of Steel Recon Team 429 Alpha. It's been three hours since I set my distress pulser. There's been no word from the Paladin or Ferris. Their objective was a satellite array on the coast; they may be out of range. My orders were to hold this position at all costs, but the entire site's been overrun. Without the password to override the bunker's security door, I won't last much longer. Paladin Brandis, sir... it's been an honor, sir."

 

Heather had found the holotape while we searched the room containing the dead Brotherhood soldier - Knight Astlin, apparently. The recording didn't have a time stamp on it, but I suspected it corresponded to when Bob Simpson and his would-be raiders had arrived. 

 

"What a terrible way to go," Heather said. "All alone, torn up by ghouls... ugh."

 

"Yeah," I agreed, "I suppose her people will want to know what happened to her." I removed the Knight's dog tag, planning to return it later, then checked the distress pulser. As I suspected, it's battery had long since died, so my initial idea - reactivating it so the Brotherhood could home in and recover the body - was a non-starter. I'd just have to give them directions to this spot.

 

After some further exploration, we found the security door Astlin had been talking about. The kind of sad thing was that the password we'd found upstairs was what would have saved the Knight. We punched it in and immediately heard the magnetic locks on the door click open. 

 

 

Beyond the door, we found ourselves in a partially collapsed breezeway that led into a barracks complex. It was positively crawling with ghouls - again, all dressed in army fatigues in various stages of decay. Once more, we found ourselves clearing the building room by room, and as we reached the second level of the building I made an unpleasant discovery: another Brotherhood soldier, but this one not dead but instead turned into a feral ghoul. I didn't waste any time in gunning down the poor guy, but it further reinforced my suspicion that the ghouls we were encountering here were all recently converted. 

 

 

I found myself checking my Geiger counter more frequently, but it didn't show any signs of radiation. Just in case my unit was malfunctioning, I also asked Winter to check the local radiation level, and she confirmed that it was negligible. Whatever had triggered the ghoulification process in these men didn't seem to be there in the barracks complex.

 

A bit deeper into the second floor we found some offices, one of which had an intact computer terminal. Most of the files were corrupted, but the password from the first building did let me into an access control program that promised it had unlocked another security door. While I was doing that, Winter and Heather had been searching desks and file cabinets, and they found a few more magazines. One of them was an adventure-fiction rag promising a swords and sandals type story, though judging from the cover art I suspected it might be more to Red's taste than my current companions'. The other was an issue of Tumblers Today, a hobby magazine that leaned towards amateur locksmiths and would-be escape artists. 

 

 

"Well," I commented, "if I ever get trapped in an oven, I guess now I'll know how to escape."

 

Both of my companions chuckled a little at that, though Winter added, "to be fair, it still might have some good tips. I always get a little antsy when I have to squeeze through confined spaces. Hell, that passage from the other building was a little freaky... it felt like one wrong step and I'd get buried alive. I think I'll give that book a quick read once we're back somewhere safe."

 

I did take a brief flip through the Astoundingly Awesome Tales volume, and at a glance it did look like something right up Red's alley. Unfortunately, with her all the way down in Natick, I wouldn't be able to enjoy it with her any time soon. I guessed I'd have to find out just how adventurous Heather's tastes in literature were next time we got a chance to relax.

 

Pressing on, the further we got towards the far side of the building, the worse shape it was in. Eventually we reached a large dormitory area where the floor had almost entirely collapsed. We had to fight some more ghouls there, including another Brotherhood soldier, but beyond it (now back on the first floor, as there was no way to proceed on the second and we had to climb down the rubble pile where the collapse had happened) we found that security door. It led out into a small outdoor path. One way led to stairs and, beyond that, to the forested training grounds. However, another branch of the path led to a concrete bunker. I wasn't sure why - call it a hunch - but I felt a strong urge to investigate it.

 

 

The hunch paid off - I noticed two things almost as soon as we stepped in. First, while the level wasn't severe, my Geiger counter was picking up an elevated level of background radiation. Second, I could hear voices. I gestured for everyone to take cover, and then I listened. A gravelly male voice spoke first.

 

"Come on, you bitch! Just let the thing fuck you already!"

 

A woman's voice with an accept that reminded me a bit of Jake's answered, sneering, "maybe some scented candles would be nice? Or some lingerie? Maybe that would help."

 

I'd homed in on the voice now and could see the silhouette of a man, his back to me. A security gate stood between him and a woman dressed in a lab coat. Doctor Wolfe, I thought.

 

 

The man, who I guessed was Bob Simpson, didn't seem amused. "You think I'm joking here? Get down on your fucking knees and let the guy fuck you!"

 

I'd heard enough, and I lined up the sights on my rifle to shoot this guy in the back of the head. He shifted slightly at the last minute, the laser bolts instead playing over his back in a flash of steam and smoke, and I put a second burst into him to make sure he went down. 

 

 

All hell broke loose then - turrets dropped down from the ceiling, a Protectron emerged from its charging cradle burbling threats, and several feral ghouls charged at us. What followed was a very short and intense firefight, and fortunately we ended up on the the winning side. 

 

However, that still left the matter of freeing the woman. I didn't see an obvious way to open the security gate, and we had to do a bit of digging until I found first a release switch and then, secreted on Simpson's body, a key that opened the mesh cage which locked down said switch. Finally getting the door open, I considered the woman for a moment. She was about my height, with short dark hair and tanned skin that suggested she didn't spend all her time indoors. I also noticed a couple other details: first, her lab coat had a Vault-Tec logo on the breast, and second, she was rather heavily pregnant.

 

 

"Doctor Wolfe, I presume?" I asked.

 

"Thanks for the rescue," she said, then added wryly, "God, I feel like such a damsel in distress sometimes. I suppose I'm already making quite a name for myself if people are coming looking for me."

 

"You've got an... admirer in Diamond City," I explained. "That, and I was hoping you had met up with a certain journalist lately and could tell me where she is."

 

"An admirer, huh? I hope you don't mean that creep Faraday."

 

I smirked, nodding.

 

"Typical. He doesn't seem like the type who takes 'no' for an answer. What does he want?"

 

"I think he's looking for a research partner, actually. He's studying IHFM and he says you're the best in the field."

 

Wolfe brightened a little at that. "So I am making a name for myself, then. Well, Faraday didn't make a good impression the first time around, but if he's talking me up so generously, maybe I'll give him a chance. First though, I need to finish what I was planning to do here all along - there's a woman I really want to talk with at County Crossing."

 

"Bessy, right?"

 

"Jeez, you know everything about me, don't you?"

 

I shrugged. "I've been kind of chasing you. I won't hold you up, but before you leave... have you met with a reporter named Piper Wright? Faraday said she was looking for you."

 

Wolfe seemed to pause to think for a moment, before shaking her head slowly. "I'm sorry, I haven't. The name rings a bell... she's a bit of a troublemaker, isn't she? Still, I hope she's alright. Is there anything I can do to help you find her?"

 

I thought on that for a moment, but I was out of ideas. "Just... send word if you cross paths with her? She left kind of... unexpectedly to look for you, and her trail went cold before Bunker Hill. I'd really been holding out hope that when I found you I'd find her too, safe and sound."

 

"Maybe it's just as well she didn't find me then," Wolfe said. "If you hadn't showed up when you did, I'd have been the star of a feral ghoul gang bang. Not exactly how I like to spend my spare time."

 

I wrinkled my nose a little at that. "Is that what Simpson was doing up here?" 

 

"I don't know all the details - not like he was volunteering them - but apparently he, Simpson, was luring would-be raiders here, setting them up with gear he looted from the training grounds, and then feeding them radioactive food to turn them into ghouls. He boasted he'd gotten pretty good at it, that he could consistently turn his 'new recruits' overnight. Then he kidnapped women on the road and forced them to have sex with his ferals, to try and get them pregnant with ghoul babies. I don't know what he thought his endgame was going to be... but I also think he was completely insane, so it could be anything."

 

"But you're already pregnant," I pointed out. "I don't think it works that way."

 

Wolfe shrugged. "Like I said, he was crazy. I don't think he was really thinking things through very clearly."

 

"Fair point," I conceded. "Do you need someone to walk you back to County Crossing?"

 

"I'd appreciate that," she said. "Are you leaving soon?"

 

I was about to say I was ready to head back immediately, but a whistle from close to the entrance caught my attention and a little backtracking took me to a side room where Heather was appreciating a power armor maintenance frame. The armor within didn't look like it was in great shape - several parts were missing and what was there had a moderate patina of rust.

 

 

"What's so exciting?" I asked, "it looks trashed."

 

"Yeah," she admitted, "this guy has definitely seen better days. But these parts? This is an X-01." She pronounced it as X-One. "These were hot-shit prototypes from just before the war. Super rare."

 

"Should we take it with us?" I asked.

 

Heather seemed a little less convinced about that. "If we can get it working. You got an hour or two for me to fiddle with it?"

 

"I had no idea you were a power armor mechanic, Heather," I admitted.

 

"Ha, that's a big stretch. But I'm handy with a wrench, and as I understand it Winter is a qualified mechanic. With the two of us? No promises, but we've got a shot."

 

"You onboard with that?" I called to Winter, who had come to loiter in the doorway.

 

"Sure, why not? Why don't you give this place a search for anything valuable or... you know... take a sponge bath. You're fucking filthy."

 

"I thought you liked me filthy," I shot back.

 

Winter laughed, clarifying, "not that kind of filthy. Though if we had Lucy here I bet she would have loved to give you a nice hot piss bath."

 

"Jesus," I muttered, "did Lucy come to your bed with that fetish, or is that something you got her into?"

 

"A little bit of both, I think. For someone as sheltered as her, Lucy was pretty adventurous in bed. And when we tried doing the toilet game, it was like she'd found her true calling in life. So maybe I planted the idea? But I planted it in fuckin' fertile soil."

 

I let my two companions start working on the power suit and set about taking inventory of the bunker. I wish I could say I found some real treasure in there, but Simpson seemed to have mostly picked it over. I did find a couple of pre-war rifles in really good condition, which I handed off to Heather and Winter when I got back, but otherwise I struck out. They were still working, so I took Winter's advice and soaped up a moist sponge and cleaned up the worst of the grime on my body. That was actually pretty refreshing, and by the time I was done, Heather asked me to get into the armor.

 

 

The joints were a little stiff in places, and whole parts were totally unprotected - the helmet was missing, and Winter had ended up having to remove the seriously damaged armor plating off the arms. Nevertheless, the armor moved, and Winter explained that even if we had to strip it for parts when we got home, these X-01 components could upgrade the suit I'd received as a gift from the Brotherhood. 

 

While I got suited up and tested the range of motion on the armor, Suzan Wolfe watched me with seeming interest. She apparently found a bottle of liquor somewhere in the bunker, and was taking sips off a finger she'd poured into a glass that was definitely intended for something softer.

 

 

"That OK for the kid?" I asked. I remembered back to when I was pregnant with Shaun and how every doctor or nurse we saw hammered home the whole 'no drinking, no smoking' message.

 

"In moderation," she said. "One of the traits associated with the IHF mutation is far more robust placental function, especially toxin filtration. If IHFM hadn't existed before the war, I'd think it was an adaptation to the contaminated environment."

 

"Wait," I said, "IHFM was around before the war? This is the first I've heard about this."

 

Wolfe nodded enthusiastically, "yes, of course the records are... fragmented is putting it kindly. But there's evidence that a very small number of women had IHFM before the war. It's one of many mysteries I'd love to get to the bottom of."

 

We chatted a little more about her research on the way back to County Crossing, though I have to admit, most of it went right over my head. The main takeaway was that she had been working for years to really understand the function and the details of IHFM, to figure out what parts of 'common knowledge' about the condition were true, which ones were just the product of peoples' imaginations, and which ones lay somewhere in-between. Just like Faraday had said, she had a very 'hands on' approach, and she'd become pregnant with many different wasteland creatures. Indeed, at the moment she was carrying a radstag foal in her belly. I wasn't really sure how I felt about that. There was something about the Breeders that I felt a little unsettled about, and there were some fundamental defects of consent in any relationship with a partner that can't communicate with you, but I also felt like the Breeders had been around for a long time (before the war!) and I also questioned if it was right for me to judge them for a trait that might have helped them survive in this environment.

 

When we returned to the campground, night was settling in and I was about to track down Peterson to tell him about Bob Simpson's fate. However, before then, I spotted a female form near the fire, and something about the shape of her legs got my attention. Wolfe apparently noticed as well, and started moving in that direction. I followed behind, an as we got closer I saw that this woman did indeed have the cloven hooves Amos had described. I could also see that her skin was desiccated and her soft tissue withered away. In other words, she was a ghoul.

 

 

"Are you Ms. Bessy?" Wolfe asked, and the woman looked up from her cooking. 

 

"That's me. What do you want? You the one John said was looking for me?"

 

"I believe I am," she said. "I'm a doctor from points west of here, and I'm studying people whose bodies develop in different ways from most. I'm very interested in learning about your experience with your feet. And maybe if they're causing health problems, I can help you live with them more comfortably."

 

"Ha," Bessy said, "another do-gooder. Well, I've got nothing but time while I'm turning the roast. What do you want to know?" 

 

The two of them got to talking, and pretty quickly I realized that I wasn't a party to the discussion. So I wandered off looking for Peterson while they chatted. In passing, I discovered the answer to one question I'd had - namely, why Bessy's jeans were cut so low. At the base of her spine, a short little tail poked out where the seat of more traditionally-cut jeans would have been located. Evidently for Bessy, comfort took priority over modesty. Not that I was one to judge on that score, of course.

 

 

Peterson was happy to hear that Bob Simpson was dead. Well, maybe not happy. If anything, he seemed disappointed that the man had met his end, but he still thanked me for ending the threat from the National Guard base. He invited me to stay the night, but quickly turned down even the suggestion of building some sort of relationship with Concord. The only concession he granted was a vague invitation to welcome caravans from points north, but he wasn't interested in protection, or even with serious ties. Peterson was guarded and vague, but he seemed satisfied that he'd taken care of their security situation. 

 

After wrapping up that conversation, Heather, Winter, and I retired back to the ruins of the old trading post and started to settle down to get some rest. We chatted for a bit, but small talk didn't really come. Heather was happy that we'd killed the synths; apparently she was keeping count. She explained that she personally wanted to kill at least 50 synths, and unfortunately I suspected that would be very achievable if the Institute's minions kept crossing my path. When I said that, Heather corrected me rather vigorously. 

 

"It's not a coincidence, Charley. They're looking for you. You've got their attention and they've decided to do something about it. Maybe kill you. Maybe kidnap you and replace you with a synth. But until you do something about the Institute, you have to be on guard from now on."

 

 

"Jesus, that's a cheerful though," I said. "Any other rays of sunshine?"

 

"Hey, don't be like that," Heather said. "I'm just saying you should be careful. It seems like you're doing really good things out here, and the Institute hates it when people do stuff like that. And, you know, I want you to be safe."

 

"That's sweet of you," I said. "Thanks. What about you? Are you worried the Institute's got it in for you?"

 

"Nah, not really. I'm small potatoes. Just a wandering, caravanning, herbal-medicine-trading nobody. I'm as safe as anyone in the Commonwealth."

 

"You're not a nobody," I corrected her. "You've been a big help to us."

 

"Pffft," she scoffed. "Are you kidding? I haven't been your 'guide' since Diamond City. You're doing just fine on your own. I'm amazed you're even keeping me along."

 

Winter chimed in there, suggesting, "well, you're cute, and you're good in the sack. And you're a nice person. Why wouldn't she want to keep you around?"

 

Heather blushed a little. "So, um, about that. I, ah, I really liked what we did back at the Slog. Does that mean I'm a lesbian? Is that why I never have good luck with guys?"

 

"Maybe," I said, "but I wouldn't read too much into it. You'll know who's right for you when you meet them."

 

"Good," she said, "because I still like guys."

 

"You definitely wouldn't be the first person who liked men and women both. Like I said, don't worry about it, just do what feels right for you. So..." I gestured towards my bag, "you want a bedtime story?"

 

"Sure," she said, scooching close to me. "Can I look at the pictures while you read?"

 

"Absolutely. But you better snuggle up close if you want to see." I fished out the Astoundingly Awesome Tales book we'd found at the National Guard training yard and flipped open to the first page. The story was presented as a photo-novel, with each scene in a landscape view, so you had to hold the magazine open centerfold-style to read it. The good news was that this layout made it easier for Heather to follow along with me while I read, but I have to suspect this made it a little awkward for anyone even slightly bashful about reading this sort of thing in public. Drooling over a centerfold is definitely a solid match for the pervert look. 

 

All things considered, the book was in decent shape, but it was had still definitely seen better days. The binding was cheap, and I couldn't open it all the way for fear of making the whole thing fall apart, and the edges were pretty worn down anyway, which quickly had me making up details as we pushed into the story.

 

 

In no way was AAS fine literature at the best of times, but this one was particularly 'straight-to-the-point,' no pun intended. While the story had a thin plot to hold it all together, it was mostly just a 'fear and peril' type story that focused on putting the heroines in a terrifying situation and letting the reader get excited as a vicarious observer. Still, Heather at least didn't seem bored, and as the story started to get into the heavier stuff, I could feel her squirming a little bit while I narrated. 

 

"Her asshole struggles to stretch on the ungreased pole," I read, "the soldiers lower her more, but continue to hold her up to let the stake work inside her. The woman is in shock and can only muster groans as she is impaled. The captain oversees the execution:" I changed into my best impression of a tough-guy male voice, "make sure she remains conscious as you drop her boys... go slowly!"

 

"Fuuuck, this is so fucking wrong," Heather said. "But I can't look away." 

 

I turned the page and let Heather take in the next set of photos as I read, "the carved point of the stake disappears inside the woman. The soldiers push her upright and she bellows and screams." I mimicked the shrieking as best as I could without being too loud. 

 

Heather clutched at my arm, rubbing against me. "Charley, I think this is having the opposite effect of helping me sleep. My heart's pounding."

 

"Is the tension of not knowing if the runner gets away too much?" I asked, a little playfully. I should note that the whole framing device is that one of the three women tried to run away, and after commending her willfulness the leader of the Roman soldiers told her they were saving her for last. The photos kept showing us the woman in the background, on one hand looking terrified, but seemingly also looking for a way to escape. Obviously, the main thrust of the story is just to show a bunch of raunchy photos, but it definitely did have some tension around whether or not the heroine would escape in the end. 

 

"Maybe," she admitted, "but I'm really stuck on that pole going up her ass. I can't imagine something that big going into... into me."

 

I leaned a little closer, whispering, "I could help give you some perspective." 

 

"No," she said, shocked a little I think, "it wouldn't fit!"

 

I laughed and side-hugged her a little. "You'd be amazed what'll fit in an asshole, but I was thinking something a little smaller than they showed in the story. Hey Winter," I said, "do you have the strap-ons handy?"

 

"Oh, um, I'm not so sure about that..." Heather said. 

 

I paused, giving her a little space, "it's up to you, Heather. But I promise you'll like it. Your call though... feeling adventurous?"

 

She glanced back at the magazine and bit her lower lip a little. "Promise to be gentle?"

 

"Of course," I said, beckoning her closer. After I got Heather out of her armor, I put on my strap-on and liberally lubricated it, before lying down and guiding her to come close. Gently, I showed her how to get into the cowgirl position and slide down onto the slippery shaft. She gasped as it entered her pussy, and I let her ride it up and down slowly, getting a feel for it and gradually getting into a faster rhythm. 

 

While it was delightful to watch Heather ride the dildo, I knew that Winter would be ready soon and I didn't want to keep her waiting. I gradually coached Heather to come closer to me, until our breasts and bellies were touching and I was doing most of the thrusting work. Winter then approached, settling into a comfortable position and gently shifting Heather with guiding hands on her back. I could see from the lube positively dripping off Winter's strap-on that she wasn't taking any chances, and indeed, my wife-to-be didn't just plunge in. Instead, she used the fingers of one hand to probe and stretch Heather's ass, a process that caused her to turn a little and look back, evidently not quite familiar with the sensation.

 

At that moment - she later told me that she'd just gotten Heather loose enough that two fingers could move around without too much resistance - Winter pulled her fingers out and slowly pushed her strap-on into Heather's anus with a smooth, gliding motion that caused our petite guide to squeal.

 

 

"Are you OK?" I whispered, "do you want to stop?"

 

"No," she said, breathing a little heavily from our exertion so far, "keep going."

 

And with her permission secured, the two of us gave Heather a very thorough pounding. We kept at it until Heather started to get a little rubbery in our arms, and the next morning she told us that her legs had gotten a little floppy and numb. I was also pleased to hear her report that we had in fact gotten her to orgasm, which I knew wasn't guaranteed - especially for the first time doing this kind of play. Once we'd slowed down and then stopped, we pulled out of her one at a time, and Heather rolled over onto her back, definitely now looking fully tired out.

 

"Do you remember what I told you back at the Slog?" I asked.

 

Heather responded drowsily, "the one that gets fucked, has to clean up?"

 

"You got it," I said, straddling her so my strap-on lay on her lips. "So get cleaning." 

 

After she'd finished licking my rubber cock clean of all her juices, Winter came and presented her less appetizing phallus for attention. Heather wrinkled her nose and struggled a bit, but soon that toy was also in her mouth and she was hard at work cleaning it. When she was done, she lolled her head towards me.

 

"That was fuckin' gross, Charley. But... does that mean I'm part of your family now?"

 

"That," I said, "it partly up to you... and partly up to the Cabinet." Seeing her confusion I said, "it's a long story. I'll tell you later. Have I tired you out enough for you to fall asleep?"

 

Heather closed her eyes, running her tongue over her lips. "Yeah," she conceded. "I guess."

 

Having suitably worked out her remaining energy, I snuggled up next to Heather and started working on falling asleep myself.