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Chapter Text

4/17/2291 Boston, The Commonwealth

The distant sound of a cockpit claxon assaulted her ears as the bulkhead door slammed shut against the wind outside. The gentle rocking of The Prydwen was still detectable, though the massive dirigible was moored securely above Boston International Airport.

Nora Thomas might have once felt absurd in her present garb - the outdated military jacket, and tricorn hat of the Continental Army of what had once been the United States of America - but her uniform had become a symbol. It wasn’t a symbol of the United States of America any longer - only a handful of ghouls, the odd robobrain, and of course, the 243-year old general of the Minutemen could even remember the nation-state which had once claimed that title. In truth, that particular nation-state - The United States of America - had long since lost its way. It had been thus even when Nora had known it.

Too many government entanglements into the private world of her citizens had contorted America into a nation that resembled the totalitarian states that America supposedly stood against. Nora had begun to realize that as she had wandered the wasteland for the last few years performing a kind of autopsy. That nation as conceived by her founders had - in truth - been dead long before the furnace of splitting atoms had desecrated its tomb in the Great War. It had died an ignominious death before Nora had ever known it. No, Nora’s uniform was a symbol of a new nation. A new revolution.

Nora grimaced, letting the memories of ancient politics fall away, and she straightened her uniform as she crossed the deck to receive a reluctant greeting from the leader of the Brotherhood of Steel.

“Elder Maxson,” she acknowledged.

“General Thomas.”

Arthur Maxson nodded cautiously as Nora entered the room. He dragged out the word ‘General’ like it was intended as an insult. She extended her hand for a handshake, but Maxson seemed to not notice as he crossed his arms and turned to gaze out Prydwen’s port-side window.

Nora had not been looking forward to this meeting. After the destruction of the Institute, the Brotherhood and the people of the Commonwealth had settled into an uneasy peace. The more fanatical citizens of the Commonwealth were - even now - calling for the Minutemen to drive the Brotherhood of Steel away. The Brotherhood had become something of a nuisance for the Boston area’s scavengers. The pubs from “The Bunker” in Sanctuary, to “The Dugout” in Diamond City, and across to “The Green Dragon” at the Castle were filled to the brim every night with patrons spinning tales about how the most valuable parts of their recent hauls had been snatched up at Brotherhood checkpoints due to their technological content. The Commonwealth was a powder keg and it desperately wanted to explode in the face of one Arthur Maxson. Nora was one of the few people - it seemed - that wanted to avoid that.

The Brotherhood sentiment couldn’t have been any better than that in the Commonwealth. Last week, reports had arrived in Sanctuary that an entire Brotherhood patrol had been gunned down in an ambush along the road east of Abernathy Farm. .45 caliber rounds - coincidentally the near-universal round of the Minutemen - had been used in a suspiciously organized strike which had killed every single knight and scribe, and the leading paladin with it. Whoever had set the ambush - Nora had her own suspicions - hadn’t suffered nearly the same setbacks.

The tactics had even been right out of the Minutemen playbook. The ambush’s lightly armored soldiers had hit from the tree-line behind sandbags and other debris on one side. As the Brotherhood charged the entrenched positions, they hit landmines in front of them… just as the second force had opened up from the safety of a building back across the road. Nora had been furious when she’d found out, but that didn’t help this situation. Maxson wanted heads to roll, and Nora was in no place to make that happen - even assuming that she wanted to.

“Would you like to start, or should I?” she asked.

“I think I would like to begin if it’s all the same to you.” He replied, turning to look at her once again. “Has there been any progress in the investigation?”

“There are a few leads, but so far, nothing has panned out.”

Maxson’s face contorted with an angry furrow of his brow. “Perhaps I should send in a regiment to investigate. Maybe someone competent.” He challenged.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” she said.

“And why not?”

Nora sighed. Maxson knew why he couldn’t, but unfortunately, Maxson was also a hothead that wanted blood.

“Because an investigation would require you to send armed soldiers into territory owned by the people of the Commonwealth and any military adventure there would likely result in the Commonwealth Provisional Government ordering a muster of the Minutemen to repel the invasion, and neither of us want a war.”

Maxson grunted angrily and whirled away - once again looking out the port-side window toward the Castle. He stared for a long moment with his hand against the glass.

The presence of Brotherhood personnel on Commonwealth soil was already a contentious issue among the Minutemen - many of whom claimed that the Brotherhood patrol should have been viewed as an invasion to begin with. While Nora sympathized with that reasoning, she had intentionally issued rules of engagement that would have avoided this kind of situation.

“Neither of us wants a war, right? I’m right about that, right?” she asked.

“It’s not that.” Maxson half-whispered. “There are just some things I don’t understand. You were a Brotherhood Paladin. How could you do this?”

Nora raised her right eyebrow. “How could I do what?”

Arthur glanced back for a moment before returning his gaze again. “How could you betray us like this, just so you can play at being a soldier?”

“I guess I still don’t understand why you think of this as a betrayal, Arthur. The whole thing happened pretty quick. You know that. Most Paladins spend years or decades reaching that rank, and you had me in a suit of T-60d with people saluting me inside of a month. I guess that I’d decided that since Danse and Haylen had been so reasonable, that you would be too. It’s not my fault that I was one of your higher-ranking field officers before I realized what you really stood for.”

“What we really stand for” Maxson interjected, “is a hope for the future of America. Humanity destroyed itself through technology, and it can again if it is not handled responsibly.”

Nora could have responded a number of ways. Part of her really wanted to call Maxson out for not really wanting a future for all of America - as the ghosts of numerous ghouls and synths could attest - but she really wanted to avoid upsetting the Brotherhood’s Elder more than was strictly necessary.

“You know what I mean.” She objected. “After being raised to such a high rank, it was suddenly very odd for me that I was expected to confiscate technology off of totally innocent people, and I was expected to eliminate certain classes of people that hadn’t wronged me or anyone else as far as I could tell. I hope that you can understand how weird that felt to me - you know, with my legal background and all.”

“That’s another thing,” Maxson said. “You were a lawyer. Doesn’t that mean that you were responsible for making sure that people faced justice?”

Nora sighed again. “In a manner of speaking, Arthur. I wasn’t a prosecutor. I was a defense attorney - at some times, I was even a public defender. It was my job to make sure that everyone, from the highest mafia kingpin to the lowest dregs of society got their day in court. They got a chance to tell their side of the story, and - at least back then - the government couldn’t come down on you when it couldn’t prove that you had done anything wrong… hopefully, you can see why that made synths and ghouls so sympathetic from my perspective.”

“But they’re synths, Nora. They’re not even human.”

“You know… it’s funny that you say that. I remember reading that you’ve been dealing with synths since you discovered their existence in D.C. about a decade ago, and even now - with all of your technological edge - you still can’t tell the difference between a synthetic human and the home-made version without cutting heads off. As far as I’m concerned, that’s probably the best possible evidence that you could have for their humanity that anyone’s likely to find.”

“That’s not true.” said Maxson frankly. “We have the records of every synth that the Institute made, and soon that threat will be completely eliminated.”

“No, it’s true.” Nora retorted. “The Railroad’s been reprogramming synth memories since before you discovered that synths were even a thing. No record that the Institute has can tell you who is or is not a Railroad reprogrammed synth. In addition, you and I both know that there’s a good chance that there are decades-old logs that the Institute had that were corrupted before any of us could get our hands on them. That’s another reason why we keep getting occasional rogue synths.”

“The ‘Railroad.’” Maxson mimicked. “If it weren’t for your assistance, and your refusal to out them, that gang of incompetents would have been done for long ago.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” said Nora - who carefully did not add the story of Deacon very competently stalking her all the way south from Vault 111 with a series of disguises. She had only realized this after the fact when Deacon slipped and told a story about Nora from before she and Deacon had met. “Besides, you should be glad that we haven’t outed the Railroad.”

“What on earth would ever give you that idea?”

“Well… the biggest part of it would be the fact that Minutemen honor our agreements.”

“A fat lot of good your agreements are doing our dead patrol,” Maxson replied sarcastically.

Nora met the anger in Maxson’s face with a level and unemotional gaze. “Elder Maxson, our investigators - notably Preston Garvey himself - are turning over every rock and looking behind every bush around the Abernathy Farm to get you an answer, and you may rest assured that when we find the responsible party, they will be no safer from us than they would be from you. That said, we aren’t going to throw the rule of law out the window for anyone.”

Maxson closed his eyes as he turned to look back at Nora. “Garvey, huh? That doesn’t do a lot for me, but I guess you’re taking this seriously.” he conceded at long last.

“Well, then I think my mission is accomplished, Elder Maxson. At least, for today.”

Maxson rolled his eyes. “If that’s the case, then I won’t keep you any longer, General.” his voice didn’t catch on her rank as it had earlier.

Nora turned to leave, but something stopped her, and she faced Maxson again. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Ask.” He said.

“You once told me that I couldn’t have a better recommendation than the one that I had from Danse. As far as I can tell, you thought of him as the Brotherhoodiest of the Brotherhood. Danse used to eat, sleep, and breathe the Brotherhood. You know? How could you hurt him like you did?”

Maxson faltered for a moment as he considered his words. His expression was the one of a man who knew that he had made a mistake, but couldn’t go back on a decision once it was made.

“Why are you so interested? Do you think we should take him back? Why? So you can have a spy in my camp?” Maxson finally replied.

Nora raised a confused eyebrow at the Elder. “If you really knew Danse - if you really truly knew him - you would know that he would never have turned on you - even under torture or in return for anything that anyone could ever give him.”

The sad truth was that Danse had become something of a charity case for about a year after the Brotherhood had uncovered evidence that Danse was a synth. Nora still didn’t completely trust the Institute’s file on Danse. It was possible - in Nora’s mind - that a smart enough Institute intelligence person might have planted the information that Danse was a synth in the event that their underground complex was compromised in some way. Said counter-intelligence agent probably wouldn’t have suspected the total capture of the Institute, but perhaps a defector, or a spy could have put hands on that information and taken it back to the Brotherhood. It was still possible that Danse was a synth, but even if he was one, that wouldn’t have changed Nora’s mind.

For a year, Danse had made himself utterly useless. He had been a regular at every bar in the Commonwealth, often in the process of drinking himself under the table. It wasn’t until Nora had found him weeping himself to sleep in a gutter late one evening that she had finally intervened successfully. Danse had found something of a new purpose. Even without Nora’s help, Maxson’s betrayal wouldn’t have kept a man like Danse down for long.

However sad the situation was, the Commonwealth had got the better end of Maxson’s betrayal. The Minutemen now had the best power armor instructor on the face of the planet - at least as far as Nora was concerned.

Nora could see that Elder Maxson was determined to make his decision stick. The command to oust Danse from the Brotherhood had been final, and though it was tragic that Danse had had to deal with that trauma, Nora was at peace with it. It’s Maxson’s loss.

“You know,” she said, “just…. forget I said anything.”

Any further pushing on the topic would have exacerbated the already strained Brotherhood-Commonwealth relations, and besides, Nora already had her answer. Arthur was a sociopath and couldn’t feel any actual remorse for his actions. Sure, he could realize that he had made a strategic mistake by giving away a power armor instructor or that his betrayal of a loyal officer had hurt morale, but actually being cognitively aware that he had hurt someone that had been unshakably loyal… someone that had loved him as a brother might… that was beyond Arthur Maxson’s emotional maturity.

Moments later, after exchanging parting trivialities, Nora was deposited ground-side courtesy of the Brotherhood Flying Corps. After making her way down the street and around a bend in an alley, Nora removed a hand-held radio from her pack.

“Hey Ronnie, you there?” she asked as she keyed the com.

“Sure am, General! How did the meeting with ol’ Max-head go?” asked Ronnie Shaw - using a title referring to the size of Maxson’s ego.

“Everything’s fine, Ronnie.” Nora replied - rolling her eyes.

“Glad to hear it, General.” said Shaw. “Hurry on home. Cook says there’s Mirelurk Surprise for supper.”

Nora put the radio back in her pack and mentally relaxed. That phrase - “Mirelurk Surprise” - had been the code phrase signalling no less than four artillery batteries that they could stand down now. As a precaution, Hancock had suggested keeping a homing beacon on Nora during these kinds of meetings. Such a beacon would make it a lot easier to target the Prydwen if Maxson ever felt tempted to arrest Nora… or worse. In such a case, it would be possible for Ronnie, or Preston… or heck... anyone really to deliver an ultimatum to the “Bossies” (as they had become known of late in the Commonwealth due to the abbreviation B.O.S. and the nuisance that they posed to local scavvers).

Nora really didn’t want a war. War was vicious and cruel and typically victimized innocents - from the people fighting, to the civilians that got caught in the cross-fire. People... people could change. They could make up their minds to do the right thing given the right reasons or incentives. Nora was trying to give Maxson the right reasons. But war…. War never changes.

Chapter Text

Elder Arthur Maxson watched from the Prydwen’s observation deck as the General of the local dirt-farming militia disappeared behind an East Boston building. He shook his head and grunted. “Report.” he half-barked at his subordinates.

Proctor Quinlan shared a brief look between himself and Proctors Ingraham and Teagan before proceeding. “Well… I. I mean, that is to say, that rather, umm…” he stuttered.

“Just say it, Quinlan” said Ingraham, her power armor whirring as she turned to look between the assembled Brotherhood staff in Maxson’s observation deck.

Quinlan’s shoulders deflated and he sighed. “Our patrols are coming up empty on scavenged artifacts. Based on our records, there should be approximately twelve hundred spare power armor frames here in the Commonwealth. So far our recovery teams have come up with somewhere between five and seven percent of that.”

Proctor Teagan scratched his goatee. “What about other equipment? Meds, laser and plasma weapons, tech documents and so on?”

“Officially, the Brotherhood has free reign in the Commonwealth to repossess any of that equipment, except for meds which are protected by local militia. Unofficially, the local scavvers really despise giving up their hauls and have been creating new ways to skirt around our checkpoints.” said Quinlan.

“Do you think that she’s responsible for this?” asked Maxson referring to the General of the Minutemen.

Quinlan raised an eyebrow at Maxson. “As best as I can tell, General Thomas has been cooperative where any energy weaponry is concerned. The only energy weapons that the Minutemen use are those jury-rigged ‘laser muskets’ anyway, and of course, those are hardly a threat. For the most part, they’ve taken to using one of about ten rifle models that can be scavenged around the Commonwealth.”

“But power armor, is she responsible for the low power armor numbers?” said Maxson.

Ingraham spoke up this time. It was clear that Quinlan was becoming frustrated by Maxson’s line of questioning.

“Nora would be an idiot not to put together as many suits of armor as she can get her hands on. Of course, she’s hiding it, and the Minutemen have been consistent in their position that pre-war civilian power armor models - particularly T-45 and T-51 suits cannot be legally seized by the military. Of course, she would include us under the category of military when it suits her purposes. As to whether she’s got anything more than that is up for debate, though I can think of a few notable exceptions.” She said.

“Such as?” said Maxson.

“Well, there’s the obvious ones. Dan- the uh… honorless abomination, I should say, had a suit of T-60 before being removed from the Brotherhood. That hasn’t been recovered yet. Then there’s the suit that was given to General Thomas before it became evident that she was intent on working more closely with the locals. Under certain circumstances, we might be able to recover those since they are technically Brotherhood property - that would entail some diplomatic wrangling that seems unlikely in the current political climate.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” said Maxson. “What about any other instances?”

“Ehh…” Ingraham started. “It’s harder to run down other reports. Especially lately, power armor has been found in the possession of a certain class of smuggler. We’ve had some patrols find a frame or two tied down to the back of a pack brahmin with pieces of T-60 and X-01 concealed in luggage. In every case those smugglers have been disavowed by the Commonwealth’s Provisional Government.”

“Of course they have.” said Maxson, giving a knowing smile.

“Beyond that,” she continued “We have government records detailing several notable storage areas for advanced suits of armor. Of the five storage areas in question, four were completely empty, and the last one had three frames with rusty actuators and no fusion cores. That armor isn’t in the hands of local raiders. I don’t think we’ve ever seen a raider in a suit of X-01. They all use that cobbled together junk armor. I’m guessing that the missing armor is in the hands of the Minutemen, unless…”

“Unless what?” asked Maxson.

“Unless the Institute had recovered it all before getting blown to pieces and it was destroyed when the Minutemen neutralized their facility… or maybe the Railroad has it hidden away somewhere.”

“Bah… I doubt that the Railroad has it. I mean… maybe the Institute hypothesis is possible, but I’m betting on the Minutemen,” said Arthur.

“In that case,” said Teagan, “the question is where they’re hiding it all.”

A questioning glance from the assembled senior staff passed between Teagan, Ingraham, Quinlan, and Lancer-Captain Kells.

“That should probably be our recon focus for the time being, Mr. Kells.” said Maxson.

Kells chimed back with an obedient “aye, sir.”

Maxson dismissed the meeting, and he turned to face where General Thomas had disappeared moments before. “Where are you hiding?” he said - looking out the windows of an empty observation deck.

###########################################################

“Where are you hiding?” Nora called out. The apparently empty warehouse in East Boston had been the perfect spot. If any action should happen to break out this was perfect.

“I’m over here.” replied the mousy voice of Isabel Cruz.

The complex that Isabel had once called “The Mechanist’s Lair” had also once been the United States of America’s Robotics Technology Facility RB-2851. Of course, that was hard to remember, so anyone that knew of the existence of a once top secret government facility hidden beneath the RobCo Sales & Service Center just used the simpler: “Mechanist’s Lair.” It had the advantage of not having any pre-war analogues that could be looked up by zealous Brotherhood Scribes, and everyone in the know could be relied on to know what was being talked about.

Isabel Cruz dropped her rotary sander onto the top of a faded blue toolbox and wiped a layer of rust off of her coveralls. They greeted each other as Isabel crossed the room which was piled with numerous unmarked crates and littered with power armor arms and legs.

Isabel reached out her hand to Nora. “My office?” she asked, quirking her head toward the upraised platform above the factory floor where a small army of Robobrains typed away at computer consoles.

The walk between Isabel’s office from the factory floor was a bit hazardous. As the idea for what this facility would eventually become had evolved in Nora’s mind, she and Isabel along with the Minutemen’s Corps of Engineers had slapped down a series of catwalks, staircases, and the power infrastructure needed to keep everything operational - power cables, water lines, and so forth. Tripping more than once on the way to the office was a small price to pay for how valuable the Mechanist’s Lair had become.

“Care to update me on the progress of Operation: Serapis?” Nora asked.

Nora had elected to name this particular operation after a ship captured by an American Naval Captain from the Revolutionary War by the name of John Paul Jones. It was suitably clandestine to avoid giving away any hints of its function, while serving as a failsafe should the Minutemen need its product if a fight should break out with the Brotherhood.

Isabel turned and faced a map that had been hastily penned to the wall of her office/bedroom. A wry grin crept across Nora’s face as she spied a certain handyman by the name of Sturges dozing obliviously in Isabel’s bed. Trying to remain serious, Isabel visibly fought the blush away from her cheeks as she began to brief the General.

“As you know, between your own efforts and the Minutemen’s Salvage Corps, we have managed to secure roughly five-hundred suits of power armor. Before the beginning of Serapis, these were scattered across twenty-seven different settlements, in varying states of repair, also in a wide variety of models.”

Isabel pointed at a green pin in the map. “Now that Serapis is in the preparation phase, we’ve moved about 250 suits to our present location,” she pointed toward a blue pin “one hundred civilian model suits to The Castle,” she now pointed at a trio of red pins “with most of the remaining suits spread between Sanctuary Hills, The Red Rocket Truckstop, and Abernathy Farm.”

“In the last fifteen days, my crew and I have repurposed three Mr. Handy units for suit repair duty. In total, we’ve got nearly 175 suits fully operational. Another 10 are due to be ready in the next two weeks.” Isabel finished turning back to face Nora.

“Have you hit any snags?” Nora asked.

“Hmmm…” Isabel took a cup of coffee from her desk and pondered as she sipped.

“The Bossies have been cutting into our shipments. Three of the last four shipments have had their cargo seized. The early phase was easy enough since the Brotherhood was more concerned with other matters, but I think they’ve got us dialed in now. I would suggest that we cut down on actual armor shipments for a bit. No one’s going to seize paint and wire and solder, and the odd sensor module, and if we pile enough other scrap onto it, they shouldn’t put two and two together and figure out what we’re doing down here.”

Nora sighed. “Well, I guess there’s nothing else for it. I’ll let Ronnie know when I get back to The Castle. She’ll make sure that we put a halt on that for now.”

“Sounds good, General,” said Isabel.

Chapter Text

April was still fairly chilly in Boston, and Preston Garvey adjusted his jacket against the brisk breeze and drizzle. The road was dotted with potholes carved by 200 years of neglect. Rusted out cars lined the roadside as Preston’s boots splashed through another puddle. “Okay, Nick. Tell me you’ve got something.”

“Okay, I’ve got something.” Nick said.

Preston looked back at Nick and raised his eyebrows. “And?”

“Oh, you wanted more than me saying it? That’s gonna be a bit harder.”

Nick Valentine stroked an imaginary beard. Preston wondered if the original Nick had had one, but the thought was fleeting. “Well, one of us had better have something, and of the two of us, I’m not the one that runs a detective agency.”

“Touche`, Mr. Garvey.” Nick chuckled.

Preston absently checked his laser musket as Nick considered the crime scene.

“Something doesn’t add up.”

For an exasperated moment, Preston waited in patient silence as Nick wrung his hat in his hand and glanced about the scene.

“Yeah?” Preston asked finally.

Nick broke his train of thought and glanced at Preston. “You know, Preston, I think you’re living up to your reputation.”

“What reputation is that?”

“There was a period of about three months where Nora couldn’t talk about you without mentioning some remote settlement or other that needed rescuing.”

“I guess I don’t understand why doing right by the people of the Commonwealth would lead to having a bad reputation.” Preston retorted.

Nick chuckled. “Not a bad reputation, Preston. Just a reputation. I can remember her talking like it was yesterday. She was always saying things like ‘Preston needs me to take care of a bunch of ferals for Jamaica Plain. Preston needs me to rescue a hostage for the Somerville Place. Preston needs me to take care of the rad-mouse problem at Taffington Boathouse.’”

Preston rolled his eyes. “You’re a funny guy, Nick.” He sincerely meant it. “That still doesn’t get us any closer to figuring out how this Brotherhood patrol got jumped.”

“Not even gonna deny it, huh?”

“I mean, yeah. Those first few months were rough for the General knitting the Commonwealth back together. Still, I don’t think I was that bad.”

“Not that bad he says,” said Nick incredulously.

“Can we get back to the task at hand?”

“Sure, kid.” Nick looked around for a minute and then looked back at Preston. “Look at the scene and tell me what you see.”

Preston’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t that your part of the job?”

“Humor me for a minute. Take a look around. Think tactically for a second. How did this all go down?” said Nick.

Preston examined the scene for a few moments. Trying to figure out positions and looking for clues that Nick might have overlooked.

“Well?” asked Nick.

“As best as I can tell, the patrol was ambushed by someone from behind those sandbags.”

“How do you know that’s where it started?” Nick asked.

It took Preston a moment to put his instinctual thoughts into words. “Well, because that’s the direction that the patrol was going when they diverted from the road.”

“Then what?”

Preston looked down. “I guess they hit a line of landmines.”

“You guess?” Nick asked skeptically.

“Yeah, you can see the blast marks. There are bits of metal shrapnel everywhere, and several of the landmine bases are still intact here because the explosive is shaped to send shrapnel up and out, not down at the ground.”
“Very nice, Preston. Facts. Then what?”

“About that time, the rest of the ambush must have opened fire from around that donut shop across the road.”

“How do you know they attacked from across the road?”

Preston looked around. The bodies of the Brotherhood Patrol had been removed from the scene and remanded to the custody of the Brotherhood for burial. One of the few remaining pieces of evidence at the scene was a free-standing suit of T-60d power armor. The paladin that had been using it had been easily removed from her suit with a turn of the lock on the back. Preston ran his leather cavalry gloved-hand down the back of the armor plates.

“The best evidence of that is the dents on the back of the armor here. A Brotherhood Paladin would never intentionally turn her back on the enemy unless ordered to do so, or if something really weird happened.”

“What kind of something really weird?”

Preston thought for a moment. “Honestly, I can’t think of a single thing that would make her turn the whole suit around and start going in the other direction. Let me amend what I said. I don’t think a Paladin would turn her back on the enemy unless ordered to do so, period.”

“By all accounts Paladin Armstrong was a courageous lady, so I don’t think there’s any chance of cowardice. That seems reasonable.”

“What does all this mean, Nick? What doesn’t add up?” Preston asked finally.

“Let me help you think like a detective, Preston.” Said Nick. “What should be here at this scene, if what we’re seeing and suspecting really happened exactly as we think it did? What’s missing?”

Preston thought for a moment.

“Let me give you a hint. I interviewed Paladin Armstrong’s CO. Paladin Armstrong and her squad were in the top 10% of marksmen on the Prydwen. What’s not here that should be?”

“Now that you mention it, Nick. Why weren’t there any bodies from the ambushers?”

“Excellent question, my boy!” said Nick. “Let me show you something that I found a few minutes ago.”

Nick led Preston over to the row of stacked sandbags. Nick waved his robotic hand in the direction of a dark stain that interrupted the otherwise regular khaki-beige color of the sandbags. A few bags had tumbled off the top of the stack and fallen onto the ground in front of the row.

“I’m about 98.7% sure that Armstrong’s patrol hit one of her ambushers here. There’s enough blood on the sandbag and in the surrounding area to be fatal for whoever was hit, but we have no body.” Nick declared.

“Where did it go?”

“The only thing that makes sense to me is that whoever ambushed our Brotherhood patrol wanted to make sure that we didn’t know who pulled off this job.”

“So, you think someone in the Minutemen did this?” Preston asked, suddenly worried.

“It’s a possibility Preston, but there’s one thing that makes me think it was somebody else.”

“What’s that?” asked Preston.

“Where are the rest of the landmines?” Nick asked.

“Wait.” Preston looked to where the patrol had first been attacked. “They gathered up their remaining landmines too?”

“They had to have picked them up.” Said Nick. “And that leaves me with one last clue.”

Nick stooped down and picked up the casing of one of the spent landmines that still remained. “There is no serial number on these mines.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Preston.

“There are two kinds of landmines, Preston: Pre-War, and Post-War. Well, actually, I imagine there are few other kinds of landmines, but my point stays. Pre-War mines were manufactured under strict legal rules - one of which required that all landmines have a serial number somewhere on the base, so that law enforcement could keep track of where they were coming from if they ever got in the wrong hands.”

“Okay, so these are Post-War mines, so what?” asked Preston.

“So, whoever made these mines has the capacity to actually manufacture them. Do you know how many explosives experts there are in the Commonwealth that could accurately reproduce a Pre-War mine, but without the serial numbers?”

“Wait a minute,” said Preston. “Sometimes wasteland crooks file numbers off of their guns. Maybe the serial numbers were filed off on these landmines.”

Nick held the spent landmine base a little closer to Preston. “If the serial numbers had been filed off, we would still be able to see tool markings from the files. No, these bases are smooth because that’s how they were made.”

“So, where does that leave us?”

“Like I was saying - whoever made these has a pretty substantial manufacturing capability. On our side of things, there might be one or two people in the whole Commonwealth who could make these, and they both work in the Castle Armory.”

“You don’t think that they could have…” Preston’s thoughts trailed off.

“Probably not, but we’ll check it out just to make sure that we don’t have a rogue bomb maker at the Castle.”

“So, who do you think did this?” asked Preston.

Nick tossed the landmine base on the ground. “I’d bet my circuits that whoever did this is from outside the Commonwealth, and before you ask, the Brotherhood wouldn’t do this, if Maxson wanted a war he’d just attack us. No… someone else did this.” said Nick.

Chapter Text

Nat’s stomach grumbled. That was nothing that a stop by Power Noodles and a visit with Takahashi wouldn’t fix. I wonder if I have enough saved up to get a Nuka Cola from the Dugout?

Nat searched the shoebox that she kept beneath her bed. Hawking papers for Publick Occurrences didn’t pay a lot - she could have talked Piper into giving her a few more caps to get a more substantial supper, but Nat wasn’t that hungry, and if Piper was in a mood to ask questions - like she always was - she would tell Nat to forget about junk food and eat something with a little protein. Rad-roach cakes for example.

She gagged at the thought of rad-roach cakes.

Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen! She had enough caps to cover her intended snacking. Grabbing her coat, she turned and left. For the moment, Piper was out-of-pocket. Probably snooping around for a new story.

The visit with Takahashi was as terse as usual, but she sipped the broth from her noodle bowl which she carried past the corrugated steel shacks that housed most of the people of Diamond City and toward her next quarry: The fine and refreshing flavor of Nuka-Cola.

By some miracle, the Minutemen had secured some way to make fresh Nuka-Cola. The rumors circulating had mentioned a theme park of some kind out west that had a bottling plant attached, but that rumor was boring, and Nat didn’t care. The bottom line was that a freshly made Nuka-Cola was at least a billion times better than the variety that was two centuries old.

She pushed her way into the darkened lobby of the Dugout and plopped her remaining caps on the counter in front of Vadim. The transaction completed, she picked a spot on the couch and proceeded to finish her food while also engaging in one of her favorite pastimes - people watching.

Behind her at the counter had been a Diamond City guard who stopped in to refill a thermos of what passed for coffee here in Diamond City. Nat didn’t want to think about how long the freeze dried coffee grounds had been sitting unused in a warehouse before making its way into the percolator that serviced the caffeine junkies of the Dugout. The guard removed his face mask for a moment to take a sip, but quickly replaced it and left the lobby out the front door.

A group of local teenagers sat nearby quietly discussing which of them would be enlisting in the Diamond City guards, or in the Minutemen, and who had a crush on who. An overly confident regular was spending his efforts attempting to impress Scarlett - the Dugout’s embattled waitress.

Vadim finished taking the order of a fairly pretty woman wearing a lab coat. Nat thought that she knew all of the would-be scientists and doctors in Diamond City, so her presence was notable among the patrons of the dive. Nat tried to keep an eye on the woman, and as luck would have it, the woman sat down at the table directly behind Nat’s place on the couch. The woman was sitting directly across from a man that had come in earlier. Nat didn’t want to crane her neck too far so as to make her clandestine surveillance obvious, but she remembered that the man was dressed in a button-down shirt and tie and sunglasses.

“Good evening, are you Linda? I’ve been trying to get in touch with you about my begonias.” said the man.

“That’s me.” said Linda, “And that would make you Jack, if I’m not mistaken. I work with begonias occasionally, but only if they’re the right shade of red.”

Nat could hear the sound of Jack opening a briefcase and placing a sheet of paper on the table.

“What have you got for me?” asked Linda. “You do know that it’s dangerous to contact me here, like this. Right?”

Jack considered Linda’s words for a moment.

“Ker- Uhh… Mrs. Winter told me that it was a risk worth taking.” He said.

“I see.” said Linda. The paper crinkled as she picked it up for examination. “Okay then.”

A moment passed, and finally, Linda cleared her throat to speak. “So, here’s what Mrs. Winter wants to know. First, no one suspects that it was us. In addition, things are tense - so everything is going according to plan.”

Nat didn’t know what Jack and Linda were talking about, but there was something about their conversation that sounded like some of the old spy radio plays that Travis would play on Diamond City Radio on Saturdays.

“How are the locals taking it?” asked Jack.

“The locals seem to be in full panic-mode. They sent one of their higher-ups to oversee the investigation, and get this…” Linda snorted in derision. “They’ve got the synth trying to figure out how it all happened.”

“That sounds pretty juicy,” said Jack. “That sounds like something that would really upset certain people.”

The radio went silent for a moment as Travis broke in to introduce the next song. “Ladies and non-Ladies this is Diamond City Radio brought to you by Commonwealth Weaponry! I’m gonna keep the best tunes in the Commonwealth coming at you all… night… long… Up next! ‘I’m a Gun’ by Lorne Greene!” he said smoothly as the song began.

“Ugh…” Linda groaned. “He’s so vulgar now.”

“Let’s stay on task.” said Jack.

“Fine.” She said. “Speaking of certain people, they are behaving predictably. I expect that what we want will kick off after a few more of Lusitania’s operations.”

“That’s good to hear. In that case, I’ve been told to let you know that you have the green light to proceed to phase 2,” said Jack.