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“Welcome to Goodneighbour. My name is Finn and I’m the local insurance salesman.”            Arthur Maxson was in the middle of sharpening his broadsword when the shaven-headed greaser deliberately blocked the path of a female Vault Dweller in the iconic gold-edged cobalt suit. He went to rise and deal with the extortionist but caught the alien black eyes of John Hancock, who shook his head subtly. Inclining his head to the Mayor of Goodneighbour, the mercenary returned to tending his weapon while keeping a weather eye on the situation.            “How much would I be covered for in the event of having to deal with a dumb asshole?” the Vault Dweller asked in a voice low and sweet as Whitechapel Charlie’s best whiskey.            “Now, now, don’t be like that,” Finn replied with a leer. “I think you’d be very interested in what I have to sell.”            “Oh really?” Now her voice was openly sceptical, earning a few snickers from the crowd that was gathering around them. By dint of being a Vault Dweller, this woman would be a nine-day wonder in Goodneighbour.            “Yes.” Finn tried to smile but it came out as a sneer. “You hand over everything in your pack and pockets or you have accidents involving bruises and broken bones.”            Hancock’s lipless mouth tightened into a grimace before the outlandishly dressed ghoul stepped in. “Whoa, whoa, time out,” he rasped. “Finn, what have I told you about pulling this crap? The first time they come through that gate, they’re a guest.”            “What do you care, Hancock? It’s not like she’s one of us,” Finn retorted.            “I said to leave the newcomers alone,” Hancock repeated, a hint of steel in his words.            “You’re going soft, Hancock. Might be a new Mayor in Goodneighbour soon.”            Arthur bit back a savage grin as Hancock’s eyes went flat. Every few months, there was that one idiot who needed to be made an example of, and this time around it would be Finn. The Mayor of Goodneighbour was a dedicated leader who took care of his people and left them mostly to themselves in benign neglect until someone broke the unspoken laws of the community – like preying on the innocent. And for all her sass, the Vault Dweller was an innocent in the Wasteland.            “Come on, Finn. How long have you known me?” Hancock’s voice became friendly, even jovial. “Let’s talk this out.”            Then in a burst of rad-fuelled speed, the Mayor pulled out his favourite knife and stabbed Finn thrice in the chest.“Now why’d you have to go breaking my heart like that?” he asked the dying thug as he collapsed on the cobblestoned street. “I thought we were friends.”After wiping his blade on Finn’s white t-shirt, he looked at the Vault Dweller, who’d bitten her bottom lip. “You alright, sister?”The woman swallowed. “I’m fine, thank you.”“You’re welcome. Don’t let this incident taint your view of our little community. Goodneighbour’s of the people, for the people. Understood?”“Understood.” Arthur had to admire the woman’s willpower. By this point, most Vault Dwellers ran screaming from the burned, wasted features of a ghoul but this one was managing a certain amount of politesse.            “Wonderful. Just remember who’s in charge.” The steel returned to Hancock’s voice.            “I’m not likely to forget,” the Vault Dweller noted with more than a little irony. She recovered quick. That would help her survive in the Wasteland.            “Good. Help yourself to Finn’s belongings as compensation and make yourself at home.” Hancock looked past the Vault Dweller to Arthur. “Maxson!”            The mercenary put the whetstone and oil away before rising to his feet, broadsword in hand. “Yeah, Hancock?”            “Take the sister to Finn’s place and clear out his crap for her.” Hancock smirked a little. “That should help with your chivalric urges.”            “Chivalry had nothing to do with it,” Arthur responded dryly as the Vault Dweller peered up at him. “Finn annoyed me on an almost existential level.”            “He had that effect on a lot of people.” The Mayor smirked some more. “I didn’t interrupt to ruin your day. I just figured the sister here didn’t need to see you cut Finn up into mirelurk bait with that monster sword of yours.”            “And here I thought he’d set himself up as a perfect example of how to piss you off,” Arthur countered wryly before smiling down at the Vault Dweller. “Welcome to Goodneighbour. My name’s Arthur Maxson.”            She took a deep breath, lips a bit white. “Gealbhan. Good to meet you. Both of you.”            Up close, Arthur could see the tinge of Irish red to her chestnut-brown hair and hear the faint lilt of the clans in her speech. Fine-boned features were marred by vitiligo that covered most of the left side of her face, a few ragged diagonal scars bisecting well-formed coral-hued lips under a pair of radstag-doe brown eyes. Her body was slender with small, soft breasts and rounded hips shown to perfection by the glove-tight Vault suit.            “Good to meet you too,” he rasped. “I’ll show you around Goodneighbour. Hancock’s essentially given you Finn’s citizenship as compensation for his behaviour.”            The ghoul, who’d been looting Finn’s body, nodded in easy agreement as he pressed what was in the greaser’s pockets into Gealbhan’s hands. “What Maxson said. We tend to live and let live here, and Finn decided to break that rule.”            “Thank you.” Gealbhan smiled awkwardly. “Ah, where can I get some food and water? The river water tasted odd and the strange fruit I found not much better.”            Arthur looked down at her and saw the signs of burgeoning radfever. “You need some RadAway,” he told her. “You’re irradiated.”            “Tell Daisy to put it on my tab,” Hancock added. “When you’re ready, come by the Old State House. Just by being a Vault Dweller, you’ll have skills Goodneighbour can use.”            She nodded. “Yes, sir.”            “Just Hancock.” The ghoul smiled and nodded. “Welcome to Goodneighbour.”            Arthur touched her shoulder. It would be a hard line to walk between his desire for her and the need to not take advantage of her vulnerability. “We’ll get the RadAway first,” he murmured. “There should be food and water in your new home.”            Gealbhan nodded again, biting her lip uncertainly, and Arthur wondered what brought this doe-eyed Vault Dweller to the surface. Hancock liked to joke about the mercenary’s ‘chivalric urges’ but engaged in as much altruistic behaviour. Whatever drove the woman from her safe home could be of concern, and while Fahrenheit handled Goodneighbour’s internal security, it was Arthur who commanded the Neighbourhood Watch when danger threatened the community.            We should do a sweep for raiders and super mutants, he thought grimly as he led Gealbhan through the crowd, murmurs of curiosity and a few friendly greetings in their wake. God knows Diamond City Security’s not doing their job.            MacCready, K-L-E0 and a small squad of Watch should be enough. The first two would do it for the loot (even super mutant guns could be salvaged for mods) and the rest for chems brewed by Hancock’s own people. Food supplies were getting a bit low, even if ghouls didn’t need to eat.            Goodneighbour took care of its own, something that Gealbhan would find out. He just hoped that she adapted well to the community. It would be… regretful… if she had to leave.…Finn’s place was a small shack that barely contained a sleeping bag and footlocker, faded striped canvas providing shelter from the weather and a tattered curtain granting a modicum of shelter. But Arthur repeatedly assured her that it was hers and while that scamming, rorting and stealing from outsiders (past the first visit) was permissible, not too many people would steal any food or water from her. “There’s even something of a ration system in place,” he explained softly. “You can go to Hancock three times a week and get some food. It’s pre-War preserved stuff, so you’ll need to be careful of the rads, but it’s something you don’t need to buy or scavenge.”            “What about clean water?” she asked as she set up the RadAway for a transfusion. That semester of first aid in college was going to be damned useful.            “A can a day. We’ve been trying to rig up a system that purifies the radstorm water but we need a proper technician to make it happen.” Arthur’s broad shoulders shrugged beneath his fleece-lined coat of oiled brown leather. “You can always buy more. If you can provide skills that will help Goodneighbour as a whole, Hancock will put you on his staff, which means a bit more in the way of food and water and protection.”            The hired gun – or sword, if the broadsword slung across his back was anything to go by – was huge. Long ash-brown hair was undercut at the back and sides before being pulled into a ponytail bound with strips of strange leather to the waist. His eyes were vivid blue, piercing through the defences that she’d erected on leaving the Vault. A wicked scar arced from uneven aquiline nose to a square jaw on his right cheek, partially hidden by the scruffy beard that framed his rugged features.             “I know some first aid – rough transfusion, basic field surgery and how to set limbs,” she told him. “If I can get my hands on the right components, I can distil moonshine as well, maybe even adapt the old clan recipe for whiskey to that brown grain you grow nowadays.”            Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “We have a couple stills in Goodneighbour but the alcohol’s lousy at best. Medic skills are always useful and God knows there’s enough trouble around here to make you earn your caps.”            “I also know explosives – both the making and usage of – and can handle a pistol if I have to.” She had to explain how she’d survived to get here, after all.            The big man actually grinned. “That’s something we don’t have. Hancock will love you for that alone.”            She smiled awkwardly. That grin softened his hard features, awakening a libido she’d thought dead before the bombs fell. “Glad to see I’m useful.”            “I think you’ll be more than useful,” he said huskily.            The RadAway was ready to be transfused into her veins. No wonder she was feeling like hell after foraging for food. Rads would be in everything unless specially purified. She wondered if she could apply the filters used in a still to some kind of water reclamation project, even if it was on a small scale.            Gealbhan rolled up her sleeve to just past the elbow before jabbing a catheter which had already been cleansed over fire into the vein. She winced at the sting and then at the surge of liquid in her body. She sat down on the footlocker and wondered how long it would take for the RadAway to work.            “I’ll go through the common stores and see if I can find you some clothing,” Arthur said as he turned away. “That Vault suit screams ‘prey’ in the Wasteland.”            “Just save the sexy lingerie for after we have dinner together,” Gealbhan observed wryly.            Arthur half-turned to give her a long perusal, blue eyes burning like gas-fed flame. “I would rather dispense with the lingerie after we have dinner altogether.”            She raised her chin. She was alone now, no one left to judge what she did with her life. And despite the roughness, Arthur reminded her of the handsome soldiers she liked in college. “I’ll bring the potato chips if you bring the alcohol.”            His smile was a slow, sensuous thing. Whatever Arthur Maxson was, shy about sex wasn’t one of them. “I’ll bring a bit more than alcohol,” he promised before leaving the shack.            “I look forward to it,” she replied.            It took about an hour for the RadAway to work and during that time, a few neighbours came by with friendly greetings and offers of chems, which Gealbhan turned down. She avoided the drugs now because of her previous addiction but didn’t – couldn’t – judge anyone who indulged. The Wasteland, while more honest in its brutality, was as horrible as the world she knew before the bombs fell.            Arthur returned with a cream-coloured cotton dress, green shirt and jeans with combat boots, and a basketful of food and alcohol. “Hancock will definitely want to talk to you tomorrow,” he said. “We definitely need a dedicated medic because Diamond City won’t let ghouls in and Bunker Hill’s too far away in an emergency.”            “Sure, though I’m no doctor,” Gealbhan warned as she folded up the leftover RadAway pack and catheter to be used later. She would need to find a regular way of sterilising everything.            “You’ll be more of one than we have now. Ghouls heal in radiation, which is all around us, but the rest of us aren’t so lucky.” Arthur set the basket down and regarded her intently. “You… don’t have to do anything with me if you need protection. In Goodneighbour, the Neighbourhood Watch protects everyone.”            She should have expected this. “It may come as a surprise to you but I managed to get from a Vault up past Concord to here without dying. Finn was about five seconds off getting coldcocked when Hancock intervened. So if you think the only reason I might be interested in you is because I need protection, please fuck off right now.”            Arthur’s thick eyebrows arched before he blushed. “I’m sorry. I… just wanted to make sure I wasn’t taking advantage of your vulnerability.”            Gealbhan got to her feet. She wasn’t a short woman by any means but Arthur had at least six inches on her height. He had more muscle on him than she honestly thought possible. The sword he carried surely weighed as much as a small child. But she suspected he was the vulnerable one somehow.            “I don’t know this world,” she admitted, “But I do know what goes on between a man and a woman. I’m lonely and you’re lonely. If you’ve changed your mind-“            Thick arms wrapped around her and drew her against that powerful frame. Arthur buried his face into the crook of her shoulder, mouthing her collarbone until a love-bite was left behind. She could feel his erection poking against her belly as he bore them both down to the sleeping bag.            Between his coat – plated for protection – and the leathers he wore underneath, he had rather more clothing than her to remove, but soon enough they were both naked. Scars seamed his hairy hide, muscles hard as concrete, his scent honest sweat, a hint of leather and something astringent she couldn’t place. They marked each other with teeth and nails, wringing out cries of pleasure-pain, and Gealbhan felt more herself than she had been for over two hundred years.            Arthur’s cock was thick enough to burn once he thrust inside with a grunt but it was the kind of good burn she’d missed. Gealbhan locked her legs around him and something feral flashed in those vivid blue eyes. Then he fucked her into the sleeping bag and the dirt of Goodneighbour, hard powerful thrusts that grounded her in a way that nothing else could. He spilt on her birth-marked belly just after her climax, showing a bit more prudence than she might have in this situation.            “You bore a child,” he murmured, tracing the pink-silver lines after wiping away the sticky seed with a rag.            “Yes,” she admitted. “He’s… gone now.”            “Is that why you left the Vault?” His blue eyes were compassionate.            “…Partly. The rest was the father blaming me because I wasn’t strong enough to save him.” She really didn’t want to go into Nate at the moment.            Arthur’s fingers trailed down through the nest of auburn curls that shielded her cunt. “Is the child dead or taken?”            “…Taken. Someone broke into the Vault and tore him from my arms as we awoke from cryo-sleep.” Gealbhan bit her lip as two fingers slipped between her folds and inside, scissoring a little to replicate the burn of Arthur’s cock. She was still so wet from the orgasm that it happened easily.            “I’m sorry.” Arthur pressed a kiss to the side of her neck as he gently fingered her to another orgasm. Why was it that she got more sympathy from the mercenary she’d decided to fuck hours after meeting him than the neighbours she’d known for years before the bombs fell? “We’ll tell Hancock tomorrow. I’ve heard rumours of other people being kidnapped. There could be a connection.”            She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened. A ‘ghoul’ and a mercenary were better people than her husband and community. Just went to show the old Biblical saying about whited sepulchres and all…            After another orgasm, she found herself snuggling against Arthur’s sweaty bulk, the mercenary wrapping an arm around her gently. They fell asleep like that as sunset filtered through the cracks and for the first time since forever, Gealbhan felt safe.

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Arthur woke to Gealbhan sitting up with dried tear-tracks on her cheeks, visible in the early morning sunlight that streamed through the cracks in Finn’s old place. Her chestnut hair hung around her delicate face and he reached out to tuck an errant lock behind one ear, hoping she wasn’t having regrets about last night. The kiss-swollen lips, love-bites and scratches attested to the ferocity of their fucking. Finn’s old place was too narrow for a spring mattress on the floor but maybe he could rig something up that’d be more comfortable for them…            Gealbhan’s smile was a pained thing. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said apologetically, voice low and rough.            “It’s alright,” Arthur told her. “No regrets?”            “Not about you.”            He couldn’t help his smile, fingers cupping her scarred cheek. “Thank you. I’ll do everything I can to help you find your son – or at least the bastards responsible.”            Her smile warmed a little. “Thanks. I… don’t even know where to begin.”            “John Hancock. He knows the power players in the Trinity – Diamond City, Goodneighbour and Bunker Hill.” Arthur sat up, shoulder brushing against the faded grey wooden planks of the wall. Permanent dwellings in Goodneighbour were far and few, tucked into nooks and crannies, and Arthur’s own place wasn’t much bigger than Finn’s. It did have a spring mattress though…            She nodded. “If I’m to make a place here, I have to speak to him regardless.”            “Precisely. Diamond City is the most secure and prosperous of the Trinity but… Mayor McDonough’s a control freak, ghouls aren’t allowed inside and the only language the security there understands is caps. Bunker Hill is somewhere in the middle – trading hub where anything can be bought or sold – but it lacks the security of Diamond City and the altruism of Hancock. Kessler cares only about the caps going and even raiders are free to sell anything other than slaves there.”            “So you’re saying it’s a good place to look for information but a poor place to trust anyone?” Gealbhan reached over to rummage in the basket for the neglected dinner from last night.            “Yes. Hence if we go there, you’re wearing the green shirt, jeans and combat boots. A dress or the Vault suit will make you appear easy pickings.” Arthur admired the graceful line of her back and marvelled that she found him attractive without the need for protection.            “Understood.” Gealbhan pulled out a box of Instamash and can of purified water. “So caps are the currency, I assume?”            “Yes. Nuka-Cola caps,” Arthur confirmed. “Baseball caps are too awkward to carry around in large numbers.”            Gealbhan chuckled slightly. “I figured as such. What’s the old money good for?”            “Toilet paper.”            “It was just about good for that pre-War too,” the Vault Dweller noted sourly.            Arthur remembered her throwaway comment about cryo-sleep while he was fingering her. “You’re saying that you were frozen for over two hundred years?”            “Yeah. Me, Nate and most of Sanctuary Hills. Until that bald asshole with the .44 pistol and his hazmat-suited friend broke into the Vault and took Shaun.” Gealbhan’s voice was bitter. “Most of us managed to escape but by the time we could move properly, the bastards were gone.”            “I don’t know anyone by that description but I’ve only been in the Commonwealth for about six months,” Arthur admitted with a sigh. “MacCready, my old friend from Little Lamplight, knows every merc around here by name and reputation. He was the one who told me to come up from the Capital Wasteland to make a living.”            “That’d be Washington, right?” Gealbhan mixed the Instamash and water into a cold gruel for breakfast.            “So I’m told.” Arthur regarded his broadsword with its etched bronze pommel in the corner. “The year I came to Little Lamplight, a faction calling itself the Enclave overthrew the rulers of the Citadel – a military order known as the Brotherhood of Steel – and poisoned the water purifier that Elder Lyons was sponsoring. A lot of people died before we realised what happened and those bastards rule over the rest.”            “The only Enclave I know of was a pre-War secret government cabal that had its sticky fingers in every questionable pie it could,” Gealbhan said grimly. “Vault-Tec, the Commonwealth Institute of Technology, the army… My mother was its Massachusetts – Commonwealth – director. My father was the leader of an allied organised crime syndicate that worked for the Enclave in return for a place in the Vaults when the bombs fell. A promise I don’t think was ever kept.”            Arthur grimaced. “The Enclave I know makes a big deal about its ties to the old world. The Brotherhood managed to destroy its base at Raven Rock but Colonel Autumn recollected the troops and they took the Citadel. I was a baby then and MacCready swears that the Lone Wanderer – son of the scientist who was trying to purify the waters for the Capital Wastelanders – himself brought me and the sword to Little Lamplight to be protected. Given he wasn’t that old then, I think he’s trying to tie us to the legend of the Wanderer and the Brotherhood. Makes for a better backstory for mercenaries or something.”            “There was an old pre-War legend about a King Arthur who was raised in secret to hide him from his enemies,” Gealbhan said softly. “Maybe you’re the Brotherhood’s missing heir or something.”            His mouth quirked to the side. “They’d be disappointed in me. The Brotherhood was known for destroying sentient ghouls and guess where I’m living?”            “Heh. Good point.” Gealbhan dished up the Instamash. “I’d say ‘bon appetit’ but my cooking skills are rather lacking. Hard to ruin Instamash though.”            They ate in silence, scraping every bit of grainy white gruel from the plastic bowl and licking their fingers. Gealbhan was barely adequate as a cook – the Instamash was both too runny and lumpy – but it was filling. How long had it been since he’d eaten a meal with someone who wasn’t MacCready, Hancock or Fahrenheit?            When breakfast was finished, they got dressed, Gealbhan choosing the green shirt, jeans and combat boots. From her pack came a holster with a 10mm pistol and a pouch of ammo that she added to the belt. She also gave her hair a brush and put it into a loose bun at the back of her head.            “Be upfront with Hancock,” Arthur advised as he shrugged on his battlecoat. “I’m pretty sure the Enclave are pressing on the southern borders of the Commonwealth and they’re even more fanatical about ‘purging’ places like Goodneighbour than the Brotherhood ever was.”            “Lovely. It’s always easier to blame ‘the other’ and justify their extermination to consolidate power than earn it honestly,” Gealbhan noted sourly.            “Indeed.” If her mother was Enclave, she would understand how the faction thought. Arthur liked Goodneighbour better than the paranoid Diamond City or the lawless Bunker Hill. There was anarchy here, true, but also an unspoken code that most inhabitants followed.            Hancock was having his breakfast – Grape Mentats and a bottle of bourbon – when Fahrenheit let them into his quarters. “I see you two got acquainted last night,” the redhead smirked.            “Very much so,” Gealbhan said with a smile. “You know it’s done right when you’re aching in all the right places.”            Arthur blushed at the compliment as Hancock grinned. “Good to see you making friends, Gealbhan.”            “You can never have too many friends,” the Vault Dweller agreed. “Hancock, I’ve come to fill you in on what made me leave my Vault and what I can bring to Goodneighbour. You may decide the former doesn’t make me worth the latter…”            They took seats and as Gealbhan outlined her story, Hancock lost his good humour, going so far as to unleash a long string of curses that showed him for the Irish clansman he’d once been. No one else could swear like that and keep it up for a good minute or three, not even MacCready before he started watching his language for Duncan’s sake. With the Enclave’s air forces, no one felt safe in the Commonwealth despite the two weeks of travel between the Capital and here.            “Fahrenheit, get MacCready,” the Mayor of Goodneighbour ordered tersely. “I want to know more about this bald fucker. Something vaguely familiar about him.”            The redhead nodded and left the office. When the door closed behind her, the ghoul steepled his fingers, leaning forward. “The bad news is that the Institute probably took your kid. They kidnap people and their synths replace them. The older ones – walking skeletons and mannequins they are – strip the Commonwealth of resources. And no one knows where the bastards are so we can flush them out of their hole.”            “Assuming your Institute’s the descendant of the C.I.T I know, it’s probably somewhere in Cambridge,” Gealbhan said grimly. “It also makes a hideous amount of sense as my husband and I were survivors of… a medical programme there, which was sponsored by the Enclave.”            “Mo Dhia,” Hancock sighed. “You’re little miss Pandora, aren’t you?”            “I’m afraid so. If I’m going to bring trouble to Goodneighbour-“            “You’re going nowhere. Goodneighbour’s of the people, for the people, and I ain’t going to throw out a mother who lost her kid.” Hancock rubbed his withered face. “It’s about time we stood up to those bastards. And there’s one man who I know that specialises in finding the lost.”            “I could use all the help I can get.” Gealbhan’s gaze was pleading and it would take a stronger ghoul than Hancock to resist her doe-brown eyes.            “Nick Valentine. Gen-2 synth with some pre-War cop’s personality, works as a private dick out of Diamond City.” Hancock’s black eyes were compassionate. “He’s usually in Goodneighbour about once a month and if you’re short of caps, he’ll usually cut you some slack if a kid’s involved.”            Her eyes brightened. “If it’s the Nick Valentine I knew, I can’t think of anyone better to take the case.”            “Well, he’s a copy of the guy you knew. Still, you can trust him at your back.” Hancock leaned back. “Maxson here tells me you’re a medic and explosives expert.”            “I did a semester of first aid in college but I can do rough transfusions, field surgery and set broken limbs,” Gealbhan explained softly. “As for the explosives, it’s mostly Molotov cocktails, frag grenades and mines.”            “More than what we have at the moment,” Hancock said with a sigh.            “I also know how to make good quality moonshine. I might be able to adapt the filters in the still I was taught how to build from scratch for a small scale water purifier, but don’t quote me on that,” she continued. “I was never a tech specialist.”            “It’s something to look at.” Hancock looked up at the ceiling. “We’re the major source of good quality chems and even a few medicines here. Do you have any moral objections to that?”            “Not personally but I don’t indulge either,” was her prompt reply. “I had a habit during pre-War, one I’m not inclined to repeat. But what people do is their own damn concern.”            “Fair enough. I’ll set you up a clinic in the Old State House. We need medical care here above anything else.”            “I’ll do my best,” Gealbhan promised.            “That’s all we can ask for.”            Fahrenheit returned with a sleepy-eyed MacCready. “Not all of us are morning people, Hancock,” the sniper groused.            “Sorry but Arthur’s new lady friend’s dropped a nuke on us,” Hancock responded. “Do you know of a bald merc who uses a .44 pistol who might be involved in kidnapping babies?”            MacCready’s eyes sharpened. “Scar over the left eye, real raspy voice, metal armguard over a black jacket and white shirt?”            “Yes, yes, and yes,” Gealbhan confirmed.            “Shi-dam-well, crud. That’s Kellogg and he’s bad news. The kinda bad news you’ll want an army for.” MacCready sat down without a by your leave. Not that Hancock stood on ceremony. “He’s been kicking for at least around the same time Lyons came to the Capital Wasteland.”            “…That was fifty years ago,” Arthur said in disbelief.            “Well, that’s what rumour says. If he’s involved in your girlfriend’s kid being taken, ain’t no chance of getting the baby back.” MacCready regarded Gealbhan with sympathy. “I’m sorry, lady, but no one who’s gone up against Kellogg’s come back alive.”            “It gets better,” Hancock continued. “He might be working for the Institute.”            “Explains why he’s been kicking around for so long.” MacCready was grim. “Explains why he’s so damn deadly.”            Gealbhan’s expression hardened. “I know someone who’s nastier than Kellogg with incentive to get Shaun back. Unfortunately, I need concrete evidence before I approach him.”            “Then your best option’s to find Nick Valentine.” Hancock thumbed his earlobe gently. “I’m due to send a shipment of chems to Solomon in Diamond City. That’ll be your excuse to get inside the Wall and no one will think twice about me using Maxson as security.”            Arthur nodded. “Of course, you’re not to mention they’re from Goodneighbour. This community was founded by exiles from Diamond City.”            “And grudges are held on both sides. Understood.” Gealbhan leaned back in her seat. “I’ll get that clinic up and running before I go. Most of what I know, someone else can probably learn.”            “Not likely. Most of the locals are too darned stoned,” MacCready observed. “No offence, Hancock.”            “None taken. How’s Duncan doing?”            MacCready sighed. “Still sick. I’d kill for some Enclave medicines, yeah?”            “Or a Brotherhood Scribe,” Arthur said softly. Legend painted them as extraordinary healers.            “Find Nick before the clinic. Gonna take me about a week to get everything together anyway.” Hancock rubbed his hairless head. His ghoulification hadn’t been kind to him. He made up for it in charisma though.            MacCready looked between everyone. “Why are we bothering?”            “Because someone has to stand up to the Institute,” Hancock said grimly. “It might as well be us.”            The sniper shook his head and Arthur sighed inwardly. MacCready was a good man but he never looked beyond himself and his family. An understandable attitude but if this Institute was stealing people, they needed to be stopped.            “We’ll find Shaun,” he promised Gealbhan.            “I know. Thank you.” She squeezed his hand and it warmed his heart.

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“What do you mean you can’t let me in?”            The dark-haired woman in a red leather coat and press cap continued in the same vein as a young man apologised profusely over the intercom. Diamond City was Fenway Park, which made sense in a roundabout way, and it was from here the ghouls that helped found the settlement were exiled. Apparently Mayor McDonough didn’t much like the press either.            When the gate guard refused to answer the intercom anymore, Piper muttered something uncomplimentary and turned around. Green-hazel eyes lit up once she saw Gealbhan and Arthur laden with heavy packs nearby. “Psst, you want into Diamond City, right?”            “Sure, I just got here, but…”            “What was that? You’re that shipment from Quincy with a whole month’s supply for Solomon?” Piper winked as the intercom light blinked on, indicating the gate guard was listening. “You’ll head to Bunker Hill if Danny doesn’t let you in? You hear that, Danny? Want to tell Ann Codman and Malcolm Latimer why they can’t get their meds?”            “Alright, alright, no need to make it personal.” The gate opened slowly.            “Better get inside before Danny realises your big friend’s one of Hancock’s people,” Piper advised as she headed for the entrance.            Gealbhan looked at Arthur, who shrugged, and decided to follow the reporter’s advice.            Once inside, Piper was accosted by a grey-haired man who oozed ‘politician’ down to his rumpled three-piece suit with its yellow silk rose buttonhole. “You devious, rabble-rousing slanderer!” he roared at the reporter. The conversation went downhill from there as the duo from Goodneighbour slunk towards the elevator.            “Let me guess – you’re not from Quincy,” the red-haired guard demanded sourly as they reached the old ticket office.            “As a matter of fact I am,” Gealbhan said, shading the truth a little. “Gealbhan Killian at your service.”            “Killian? Hell, I thought that was a lost clan!” Danny’s eyes lost some of the suspicion. “But if the chems came from Quincy, why are you travelling with one of Hancock’s goons?”            “Because my last guard got drunk on cheap bourbon in Goodneighbour and I had to make this delivery,” Gealbhan responded mildly as Arthur’s fists clenched. “Maxson’s got a solid reputation and his fees are reasonable.”            “That’s true. Shame he’s happy to take orders from a junkie ghoul.” Danny got out a pen and notepad. “Gealbhan Killian of Quincy, accompanied by the mercenary Maxson, with a delivery of chems for Solomon. Got any other business in Diamond City?”            “I’m looking for Nick Valentine to recover something for me,” Gealbhan added. “It’s a matter of clan honour, so I’m sincerely hoping you don’t want me to go into specifics.”            “In Diamond City, we’ve always respected the clans,” oozed McDonough as he approached them, a fuming Piper flipping the bird at his back. Gealbhan decided she rather liked the reporter. “Out of curiosity, do you hail from the Killians out of Quincy or the northern ones from Concord”            “Both,” Gealbhan said calmly. Again, just a little shading of the truth.            “Ah! The Concord Killians are descended from Elisabeth Ahern, whose name is in the Great White Book.” McDonough clasped his hands and beamed brightly. “That makes you Diamond City material!”            Mother’s name still carries weight here, I see, Gealbhan thought wryly.            “I’m flattered, Mayor McDonough, but I must admit to being something of a nomad while I’m on clan business,” she answered with just a hint of warmth. “It’s good to know that I’ll receive a warm welcome in the Great Green Jewel of the Commonwealth whenever I come here though.”            “Diamond City always welcomes those of worth.” McDonough’s eyes flickered to Arthur, whose blue eyes were positively glacial. “I can offer the names of a few reputable mercenaries if you need.”            “Thank you, Mayor McDonough, but a Killian keeps the bargains she’s made and I’ve got Maxson on contract for the next season or so.” Gealbhan smiled sweetly at the Mayor. “He’s solid and reasonably priced.”            “Maybe Goodneighbour hasn’t corrupted him yet.” McDonough’s smile was poisonous.            “I found Goodneighbour to be charmingly shabby and the people disinclined to interfere in my business,” Gealbhan retorted sweetly. “The Killians, as you know, move in many circles.”            McDonough blinked. “Of course. My apologies, I didn’t mean to doubt your judgment. Welcome to Diamond City!”            The Mayor found somewhere else to be as Danny’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” the carrot-haired guard breathed. “Lady, did you just rattle McDonough?”            Gealbhan’s smile was bland. “I can’t possibly imagine what would rattle Mayor McDonough so.”            “I can think of a few reasons,” Piper said grimly, coming up to her. “Could you stop by my office? The return of the Killians would make for an interesting news article.”            “Of course.” Gealbhan nodded to the reporter.            Danny let them into the office as Piper headed for the entrance McDonough had used. Once the white metal doors closed around them, Gealbhan sighed in relief.            “What the hell was all that about?” Arthur asked in disbelief.            “I think enough of my clan’s reputation lingers to rattle the fine Mayor,” Gealbhan observed dryly. “The Killians made good friends but terrible enemies.”            “I’d like to know what Piper has on him,” the mercenary said.            “That makes two of us. Interesting that he brought up the Concord Killians, when they haven’t existed since Shaun and I went into the icebox.” The doors dinged, signalling their arrival. “I’m sorry I couldn’t defend you more against that asshole.”            His lips brushed against the top of her head. “McDonough despises anything out of Goodneighbour. This is actually the first time I’ll have entered Diamond City – Solomon normally meets me at the gate.”            “The Killians have always had a knack for ruining the neighbourhood,” Gealbhan chuckled.            “No wonder you’re right at home in Goodneighbour.” The doors opened and they entered the old announcer’s box where a prim, white-blonde woman was typing out something on a terminal.            “Mayor McDonough, I have the parcels from Mr Ayo- Oh!”            “Apologies,” Gealbhan said with a smile. “Danny let us past because the Mayor and Piper were having a, umm, spirited discussion.”            The secretary sniffed. “He should throw her out. Not the little sister. It’s not Nat’s fault her sister’s insane. The nerve to call Mayor McDonough a synth!”            “I’m sure the esteemed Mayor is in no way shape or form an infiltrator designed to undermine Diamond City from within,” Arthur observed blandly. He bowed with surprising elegance to the secretary. “I apologise for startling you, Miss…?”            “Geneva.” She held out her hand and he kissed the back of it. Gealbhan surprised herself with the flash of jealousy she felt.            “Maxson. Could you please tell us where to find Solomon and Nick Valentine?”            “Solomon’s in the marketplace and Nick’s just around the corner. Follow the neon pink heart sign.” Geneva dimpled at Arthur. “Where do you hail from?”            “The Capital Wasteland but now I reside in Goodneighbour,” Arthur admitted. “Ms Killian has hired me to help her with clan business.”            “Killian?” Geneva quickly collected herself and eyed Gealbhan. “I thought they were wiped out twenty, thirty years ago.”            “We decided that caution was the better part of valour and faded into the woodwork,” Gealbhan answered dryly. “If it wasn’t for clan business, we’d be minding our own business.”            “Someone should tell your cousin Cait that,” Geneva said severely. “She runs a raider bar at the Combat Zone.”            “The clan’s always had diversified business interests,” Gealbhan said, the old double-speak rolling off her tongue. “But I won’t keep you, Miss Geneva. Apologies for interrupting your business.”            “Oh, don’t worry about. Killian’s still an old respected name around here.” Geneva smiled, more so at Arthur than at Gealbhan, and returned to her typing.            The lift was an old construction-style one and it was slower than Sunday morning Mass with a hangover. “You have yourself a fan in there,” Gealbhan said, keeping her tone light.            “Geneva holds a surprising amount of power in Diamond City and Hancock told me how to get on her good side.” Arthur glanced down at her. “Between us, we might be able to pry anything out of Diamond City’s ruling couple.”            “I need to find out what the hell happened to my clan.” Gealbhan sighed and looked over the shantytown that was Diamond City.            “Nick’s been around for nearly a century, according to Hancock. Hopefully he can give us some answers.” The mercenary looked at the sky, which was as blue as his eyes. “Piper’s a brave woman to call McDonough a synth to his face.”            “Do you think she’s right?”            “I don’t know. He just reminded me of every damn politician I ever met. One of the reasons I love Goodneighbour – Hancock walks the walk as a leader. Back in Megaton and Rivet City, the politicians all bent over backwards for the Enclave despite what they did to Project Purity. It sickened me.” His voice was thick with loathing.            “Two hundred years and human nature hasn’t changed a bit,” Gealbhan sighed. “Fawn over the person with the biggest gun and hope you don’t get killed.”            They reached the stairs and wound their way to the marketplace. Solomon was easy to find and handed over the payment willingly enough. Arthur accepted a heavy pouch of caps that he tucked inside that thick coat of his. Gealbhan was rather glad to lose the pack, her only burden now her pistol, ammo and a small bag of useful loot from the few raiders who got in Arthur’s way during the walk here. That sword of his rendered clothing and armour useless after all.            “So that’s the Killian? I shouldn’t be surprised to see her in the company of a Goodneighbour degenerate,” sniffed a grey-suited woman who sat in a barber’s chair, her bleached-blonde hair getting tended by a long-suffering skinny hairdresser. “And in rags, no less!”            “I see even the nuclear holocaust couldn’t wipe out the Boston Brahmins,” Gealbhan muttered. She’d know that accent anywhere. As a form of rebellion, she’d deliberately picked up some of her dad’s Irish lilt.            “Ignore her,” Arthur advised softly. “The Upper Standish lot only mean something in Diamond City.”            “What was that?” the woman demanded loudly. The barber sighed as his mother puffed on a cigarette.            Gealbhan placed a restraining hand on Arthur’s arm, smiling sweetly. “I was just remarking on that wonderful colour in your hair.”            The woman’s chest puffed up proudly. “It’s natural.”            Her hairdresser rolled his eyes but said nothing. Gealbhan supposed he relied on her business, so silence was the best option.            “I thought the Killians had been wiped out,” the woman continued.            “We decided to lay low for a bit,” Gealbhan answered calmly. “You know what they say about the tallest trees.”            “No. What do they say?” That was the hairdresser’s mother.            “They get cut down first.” Gealbhan smiled, nodded vaguely in their direction, and headed towards the end of the market.            “What does that mean?” Arthur asked under his breath.            “Whatever someone reads into it,” was her answer. She stopped in front of the guy selling baseball bats. “Half of dealing with the Boston Brahmins involves making ambiguous statements.”            “The other half?”            “Deciphering what the hell they meant.” She smiled wryly up at him before turning into the alleyway. She’d caught the pink neon flash from the corner of her eye.            Nick Valentine’s office was second along Third Street, tucked into an alcove. When Gealbhan opened the door, a young woman with elaborately styled brown hair caught it.            “The detective’s not in,” she said flatly.            “When will he be in?” Gealbhan asked gently. “I need his help. It’s a matter of clan honour.”            The girl, obviously Nick’s secretary, sighed. “I didn’t want word to get out but he’s gone missing on his latest case.”            “Mo Dhia.” Gealbhan closed her eyes. “I don’t need this. Not now.”            “What did his case entail?” Arthur asked urgently. “I don’t like to ask someone to break client confidentiality but it’s important.”            “Who are you?” the secretary asked, lifting her chin.            “Maxson. I sometimes do work for Hancock in Goodneighbour.”            Her jaw dropped. “Did you really cut a deathclaw in two with your sword?”            “Only after MacCready blew its brains out.” Arthur rubbed his scarred cheek awkwardly.            “If Nick’s alive, you might be able to save him.” She opened the door and chivvied them inside. “I’m sorry for being rude. If they know Nick’s missing, they’ll kick me out and close down the agency quicker than you can say ‘Nuka-Cola’.”            “These are uncertain times,” Gealbhan agreed.            “That’s one way to put it. The rumours from the south…” She shuddered. “My name’s Ellie Perkins.”            “I’m Gealbhan Killian.” She held out her hand for Ellie to shake.            “Dear God, you must be named for Seanascal’s daughter!” Ellie shook her hand enthusiastically.            “That’s… one way of putting it,” was Gealbhan’s wry response, wondering how Ellie knew her father’s clan name.            “Nick and him go back a long time,” Ellie explained. “When McDonough threw the ghouls out, he broke up one of the legendary detective duos of the Commonwealth.”            It took a moment for the implications to sink in and all of Gealbhan’s guile to keep her face straight. Her father was a ghoul?            “The case,” Arthur prompted gently.            “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just, wow. The Killians are back. Everyone thought Cait was the last one.” Ellie wrung her hands. “Nick was looking for a Bunker Hill trader’s daughter who got taken by Triggermen. The last reported sighting was near Boston Common.”            “Jesus fucking Christ.” Arthur’s curse was vivid.            “Yeah. So Nick’s either dead at the hands of Swan or the Triggermen.”            “Swan?” Gealbhan was confused.            “Behemoth who lives in the pond at Boston Common,” Arthur murmured. “In other words, a super mutant on Buffout.”            “In other words, I’m going to need about twelve frag mines and twenty or so grenades,” Gealbhan observed with a sigh. “Will Hancock mind awfully if we borrow some caps for the supplies? We need Nick badly.”            “We should be able to just ask him,” Arthur assured her. “Hancock and Valentine get on rather well and Swan’s a threat to everyone between Diamond City and Goodneighbour.”            “And if Goodneighbour deals with it, that’s a nice ‘fuck you’ from Hancock to McDonough,” Gealbhan pointed out.            “Oh my God. You’re serious.” Ellie’s eyes swung between them rapidly.            “I’m an explosives expert. I also know Boston Common from old maps.” Gealbhan smiled grimly. “I’ve never met the thing that can survive frag mines posted at the entrances and a couple dozen grenades thrown into the water.”            “Wow.” Ellie collected herself and rummaged in a drawer to pull out a box of caps. “Buy a few grenades for me. If Nick survives, he’ll understand.”            Gealbhan shook her head. “Thanks, but we’ll be fine. I can make the damn things myself and add a nasty extra or two.”            “You Killians are something when you’re riled,” Ellie noted.            “I need Nick’s help. And if he’s the Nick I know, it’ll be worth it.” Gealbhan nodded to the secretary. “Thanks for your help.”            “Just save Nick. He’s the best man… well, you know what I mean.”            “I do.” She didn’t. She was still nervous about this synth business. But if he had even a shred of the Nick Valentine she’d known, he would be a good ally to have and could find Kellogg and therefore Shaun. “I’ll hopefully bring back Nick soon.”            “Good luck.” Ellie nodded and returned to the filing cabinet.            Outside, Gealbhan sagged against the wall. “Dia linn go léir. I have to save a metal man from a giant green monster in a pond so that we can find my son. What could possibly go wrong?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“So you’re telling me you want to blow up Swan in the Boston Common so we can find a missing Nick Valentine who may or may not have been killed by him?”            “You forgot that Nick was chasing some Triggermen who kidnapped a Bunker Hill trader’s daughter,” Arthur added dryly after Hancock repeated everything that Gealbhan had just told him.            “Of course. How could I forget Skinny Malone and his sorry goons?” Hancock opened a tin of Orange Mentats and chewed on one, his spittle turning vaguely nuclear-orange.            Gealbhan shrugged. “I’m going to do it with or without your permission. I just thought you might want to issue a hearty ‘fuck you’ to Mayor McDonough by giving it Goodneighbour sanction.”            The ghoul’s eyes narrowed. “What gives you that idea?”            “Your grudge seems a little personal beyond the whole ‘rival city-state’ thing. I’m Irish – I can smell a personal feud about ten miles away with the wind against me.”            Hancock snorted softly. “And to think I thought you a doe-eyed Vault Dweller, clanswoman.”            “When it comes to surviving in the Wasteland, I’m fairly useless,” Gealbhan admitted cheerfully. “But I know feuds and politics.”            Arthur tilted his head, smirking at the ghoul. “She fits right in.”            “That she does.” Hancock leaned forward, planting his hands on the desk. “The explosive thing might work but you need to be aware of Swan’s little habit of throwing big-ass chunks of concrete and pond stone at enemies.”            “Don’t suppose we could find a couple people with Fat Men or missile launchers to harass him from the rooftops?” Gealbhan suggested.            “MacCready has no finesse with heavy guns and his sniper rifle won’t do shit against that thick skull,” Fahrenheit observed from her position in the corner. “On the other hand, I’m fairly good with a Fat Man. Maxson?”            “I’ve handled heavy guns before,” he admitted. “I just can’t afford the ammunition for them and a flamer’s not my shot of whiskey.”            “You’re for this then, Fahrenheit?” Hancock asked his bodyguard.            “Swan’s a pain in the ass. And Gealbhan’s got a point about the ‘fuck you’ to McDonough.” The redhead regarded the Irishwoman intently. “Do you have the speed to avoid the big green bastard and the mini nukes on the ground?”            “I’ll have to,” Gealbhan responded grimly. “That was how I got down here – throwing grenades at enemies and playing dodge the bullet.”            Hancock jerked his chin at the door. “With me. Want to see your accuracy with a grenade before I put my name to this.”            The ghoul led them to the rooftop of the Old State House and across the walkway over the street to a nearby hotspot for raiders. A couple of the scum were standing around, huffing Jet and trading insults. “Can you hit them?”            Arthur studied them. They were a good twenty, thirty feet away. Gealbhan had held her own in combat with Molotov cocktails but-            She pulled the pin on a frag grenade and hefted it with all her might. The projectile landed in the fire drum next to them. Arthur cursed softly. No way that grenade would hurt them thanks to the thick barrel walls-            The two raiders transformed into red chunks of ruin on the street as steel shrapnel shredded them.            “I know explosives,” Gealbhan said simply.            Hancock closed his loose jaw with a snap. “Lady, I’m glad you’re on my side.”            With those words, the mission was approved.…Gealbhan bolted for the Boylston Club and across the line of frag mines as Swan picked up a chunk of concrete and hurled it in her general direction. The projectile took out a fair bit of ancient red brick and the behemoth – like super mutants weren’t nightmare enough! – lumbered out of the water and towards her. She was going to become lunch for the Hulk on Buffout. Fucking wonderful.            The mines set each other off once he triggered them, taking out chunks of toxic green flesh. Swan staggered and was hit in the back by two mini nukes. Thick as a brick and twice as ugly, he spun around to confront Arthur and Fahrenheit on the building opposite to Boston Common, therefore becoming vulnerable to her frag grenades.            One broken collarbone from where a bit of brick fell from the wall and landed on her later, Gealbhan was staring at the collection of body parts that had been a behemoth so legendary that even raiders were scared shitless of it. Fahrenheit was combing the bloody mess for any clue to Valentine’s disappearance while Arthur looted the monster’s living quarters. She’d need a stimpak before continuing to search for the synth detective.            Movement near the old Park Street subway station caught her eye: two men in shirts and suspenders were trying to sneak out, discussing what was going on. “Fahrenheit, Maxson!” she yelled. “Movement near the station!”            “Shit!” one of them blurted in a ghoul’s raspy tone. “This was Hancock’s doing?”            “Damn right!” Fahrenheit bellowed out. “Killian, what are they wearing?”            “Dressed up like two-bit Mafia goons from the old days!” she shouted back.            “Think we found the Triggermen who took Nick Valentine!”            “Shit. Shit. Shit.” The ghoul kept on swearing vividly. “Hancock’s involved, shit!”            “Shoulda just told Valentine Darla ran off to be with Malone,” the human said worriedly. “But no, Malone had to prove he was a big man in front of his girlfriend and now Goodneighbour’s closed to us. Fuck!”            Fahrenheit confronted them, her signature flamer at the ready. “If you pawns can tell us Valentine’s fate, we can forget your part in this little game.”            “He’s still alive.” The ghoul Triggerman held up his hands. “Seriously, we don’t want trouble with Hancock. Shit. You three killed Swan.”            “Where is he?” Arthur loomed up out of the lake, his broadsword in one hand and Swan’s head in the other.            “Valentine’s trapped in the old Overseer’s office,” the ghoul immediately answered. “Mo Dhia, you’re bigger than the stories say.”            Arthur’s smile was grim. “I did just cut off Swan’s head.”            “We’re going, okay? Got no beef with Goodneighbour. We’re turning over a new leaf.” The Triggermen backed away hastily before turning tail and running for Diamond City.            “Christ, Maxson, your reputation’s going to go through the roof,” Fahrenheit snickered.            Gealbhan exited cover, giggling in near-hysteria. She’d survived the biggest damned monster in Boston and helped intimidate a couple petty criminals. “I can’t believe we pulled that off!”            “Ah hell, she’s in shock.” Fahrenheit dropped the flamer and rummaged in her pack.            “Or she’s just being Irish,” Arthur observed, dropping the behemoth head.            “That’s also a possibility.” The bodyguard steadied Gealbhan by holding her uninjured shoulder. “Brace yourself, this is going to sting.”            It more than stung. But as the pain receded, the bone knitting itself back to together, so did the hysteria. “I’m good,” she reassured the redhead. “We’re good.”            “That we are.” Fahrenheit patted her on the head like a child, burned features affectionate. “Good work with the grenades.”            “Thanks.” She swayed a little, suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline ran out. “Shit, I’m knackered.”            Arthur jerked his chin at the station. “I reckon we walk into the place with Swan’s head, Malone will listen to us.”            “Given that Malone is officially now on Goodneighbour’s shit list for hurting Nick Valentine, he’ll be pretty keen to get off it, new girlfriend or not,” Fahrenheit agreed. “You up to joining us, Killian?”            Gealbhan nodded, collecting herself. “I think so. Just as long as there’s no fighting.”…In the end, there was some killing – an obnoxious Italian who refused to cooperate named Dino, a couple Triggermen with more bravado than brains. Arthur added to his comic book collection – a rare Grognak the Barbarian and an even rarer issue of Astoundingly Awesome Tales – and found a Vault Boy bobblehead in the Overseer’s office alongside Nick Valentine. Daisy liked to collect them and would pay top caps for it.            Valentine was battered and tattered, but the aquiline features were expressive as he lit up a smoke. “As much as I appreciate the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario, what led our heroine to risk life and limb to rescue an old private eye?”            Gealbhan’s face broke into a smile so brilliant that it almost outshone the fluorescent lighting in the old Vault. “Hello, Uncle Nick,” she greeted affectionately.            “What in-? Sparrow?”            “Gealbhan,” the Vault Dweller corrected. “Figure we don’t need to worry about the Sassenach these days.”            “I guess not.” Nick was astonished. “How…?”            “Cryo Vault.” Her expression sobered. “Nate’s still around. And someone broke in and took Shaun. That’s what woke us up.”            “Should have figured that bastard husband of yours would find a way to survive.” Nick’s yellow eyes studied Fahrenheit and Arthur. “Hancock started to miss me, hmm?”            “We just killed Swan and thought we’d look for you while we were in the neighbourhood,” Fahrenheit responded amusedly.            “Just killed Swan, eh? Well, I would have been better prepared for Darla if it wasn’t for that crazy green bastard.” Nick took a puff of his smoke. “So what’s the plan?”            “See what Malone’s willing to do to get off Hancock’s shit list,” Arthur rasped. “I think Swan’s head will be… persuasive.”            “Yeah, if only to get the damn reek out of his nostrils. Why the Institute gave me olfactory sensors, I’ll never know…” Nick shook his head. “Let’s go. I need to have a chat with a fat bastard and his two-diming dame.”            The Triggermen were much more cooperative now that they realised Hancock had sponsored Nick’s rescue mission. Skinny Malone, an ironically named Irishman, and his blonde girlfriend Darla met them at the entrance to the Vault. “What the hell’s going on?” he blustered. “You’ve come into my house and killed some of my people!”            “You should have told your two-timing girlfriend to write home more often,” Nick drawled.            “Aww, is poor Nick Valentine feeling bad because he got beat up by a girl?” Darla sneered.            Arthur had seen a dozen like her. Seduced by the so-called glamour of the gangster life, they became hangers-on to whatever strongman ruled the streets. Some of them became truly vicious. This one might just take over the Triggermen if not handled properly.            “So this is what passes for a crime clan these days?” Gealbhan asked of the air. “Mo Dhia, the old clans would bust a gut laughing just before they kneecapped you for the insult.”            “She’d know,” Nick drawled. “She’s a Killian.”            “Who just blew up Swan,” Arthur added with a smirk. He didn’t understand the significance of her family name but if it helped Gealbhan find her baby, he’d make use of it.            “Descended from Seanascal,” Gealbhan said with a sweet smile.            Malone went an unhealthy shade of white. “Look, I didn’t know, okay? Just… get outta here. You have until a count of ten.”            “What?” Darla’s shriek was a thing from the bowels of hell.            “I don’t need a fight with Hancock or Seanascal,” Malone told her.            “My mother was right. You gangsters are all talk.” She dropped the baseball bat and ran away.            “Why are you still here? You cost me my girl!” Malone yelled at Arthur and the rest.            “Because I think you owe Hancock an explanation,” Fahrenheit said pleasantly. “You know Nick’s a friend of the Mayor and still you kept him imprisoned. You’re a pawn trying to be a king.”            “You know what? Fuck this. Let’s see how tough-“ Malone was shot in the back by one of his ghoul goons.            “Ye’re gettin’ old and sloppy, Valentine,” rasped the ghoul in a still-recognisable clansman’s accent.            “Eh, Darla’s bat shorted out a few wires in my noggin,” Nick answered dryly. “What took you so long?”            “Had to collect that bounty in the Mass Pike.” The ghoul’s black eyes swung across the remaining Triggermen, who were all staring at him like they’d soiled their pants in unison. “You morons have thirty seconds to clear the Vault before I show you how a real crime clansman operates.”            For some reason, they decided to follow his advice. “I like you,” Fahrenheit observed with a grin.            Gealbhan swallowed thickly. “Hello, Dad. The years have been good to you.”            “No, they haven’t,” the ghoul rasped. “So yer mother got ye into that cryo Vault, colleen?”            “And here we thought it was Nate’s military service,” Gealbhan said bitterly. “I thought you were dead.”            “Was what Liz wanted everyone to think.” The ghoul spat in disgust. “If yer mother wasn’t dead already, I’d kill her. Did yer baby make it?”            “Someone stole him.” Now Gealbhan’s voice was cracking. “And it might have been the Institute.”            Arthur’s knowledge of Irish obscenity increased exponentially as Seanascal (it took him a moment to remember the man’s name) expressed his opinion of Elisabeth Ahern, the Institute, the Enclave and any number of parties. When he finally fell silent, the clan ghoul regarded them grimly.            “Take me to Hancock. Think I need to talk to the pup about a few things.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“It’s better to have Seanascal with you than against you. Damned if I’m ever comfortable having the guy around though.”            Hancock blew a smoke ring out and watched it fade into nothingness. Below, Goodneighbour’s nightlife was just getting started with drifters gathering into knots that celebrated the community’s freedom from restrictive laws. Music from Diamond City Radio and a few buskers filled the air, accompanied by the low hum of the crowd. Any other night, the Mayor would have been out enjoying himself with his people.            Maxson scratched his bearded jaw. Fahrenheit was an excellent second-in-command but not prone to considering the reasons for her orders. Maxson thought, adapted and measured them against his conscience. He saw the bigger picture in tactical terms. Sooner or later, he’d grow beyond Goodneighbour. Maybe Hancock should steer him towards reviving the Minutemen. God knew Maxson needed a cause to fight for.            Gealbhan glanced to the side, lips tightening in reluctant agreement. When she first walked into Goodneighbour, Hancock assumed she was another guileless Vault Dweller – one with a bit of a smartass tongue but essentially prey for the Wasteland. When it came to the wildlife and environment, she was certainly helpless. But her dad was Seanascal and her mom a founding member of the Enclave. Those radstag-doe eyes concealed a razor-sharp mind and a surprising streak of morality.            “He’ll have to take over the Triggermen,” Maxson finally said. “No one else will be able to keep them in line.”            “Since a third of my people are or have family members with them, I have to agree with you,” Hancock grimaced. “Skinny shouldn’t have hooked up with that girl. Would have saved us a lot of grief.”            “Nick’s going to be okay?” Gealbhan asked softly.            “Yeah. Amari’s recalibrating his subroutines. Darla’s bat did a number on his cognitive processes and cost him some memories.” Hancock sighed. He liked Nick Valentine. Seeing the synth detective’s brains get scrambled sucked.            “Thank you for your help, Hancock,” Gealbhan said. “If it wasn’t for Arthur and Fahrenheit…”            “No need,” the ghoul replied, waving his hand. “You provided me with a much-needed kick up the ass by showing up. I’ve been getting too comfortable and no leader should feel comfortable.”            “How’s the clinic set-up going?”            “It’ll be ready by the end of the week. Wiping out Swan has already doubled trade between here and Bunker Hill.” Hancock permitted himself a smirk. James must be beside himself at the moment. Not that the esteemed Mayor of Diamond City would ever know who guided – not ruled – Goodneighbour.            “News travels fast.” Gealbhan sighed and glanced over the balcony. “If Nick can help me track Kellogg, I’ll need a way to send word north.”            “Why?” Hancock eyed the Vault Dweller curiously.            “Because however nasty Kellogg may be, my ex-husband is a lot worse. And he deserves to know who took Shaun – and get a few licks in.”            “No, he doesn’t.” Maxson’s voice was flat. “He threw you out on your ass.”            “Nate told the survivors of Vault 111 that it was the former soldier or the ex-chem addict with postpartum depression.” Gealbhan grimaced. “To a group of pre-War people waking up in a hostile world, the answer was obvious, so I was… asked to leave.”            “And in three days, you’ve discovered the identity of the man who took your baby and his likely employer, taken on a behemoth, rescued a synth who can help you and started to build a reputation for yourself in your own right,” Hancock pointed out. “Besides, we’ve got Seanascal.”            “That’s the truth,” drawled the ghoul as he leaned against the open door. “I trained Nate.”            “See? You don’t – we don’t – need that asshole.” Watching Maxson try to be romantic was cute – like seeing a deathclaw with a teddy bear. The merc had fallen hard for the Vault Dweller and from what Hancock saw, the feeling was mutual.            “I hear it was yer idea to blow up Swan,” Seanascal noted.            “I remembered my demolitions training,” Gealbhan said softly. “But if it wasn’t for Arthur and Fahrenheit, I’d be a red smear on the pavement.”            “It was believed that Swan might have been the reason for Nick’s disappearance,” Hancock explained as his fellow ghoul’s face darkened. “And from what I’ve observed, your daughter knows explosives.”            “Leave us, colleen,” Seanascal ordered. “I need to talk to these two.”            “Either I stay or Arthur leaves with me,” was the Vault Dweller’s retort. “I don’t have the luxury of burying my head in the sand anymore, Dad.”            Maxson’s blue eyes were grim. “Nor do you rule in Goodneighbour. You’re here as a courtesy, because you know something of the enemy.”            Hancock silently blessed the two smoothskins. Seanascal was a man who naturally took charge and while Goodneighbour could use him with hands on the Triggermen’s reins, damned if he would just walk in and take over.            “Gealbhan’s our resident medic and demolitions expert,” the Mayor confirmed, meeting Seanascal’s green-black eyes. To a non-ghoul, the black of their eyes looked the same – to someone with Hancock’s eyesight, they were a thousand different shades of darkness, each one as individual as the whorls on their skin. “She’s held up her end of the bargain so far, so she keeps on getting my sanction and support.”            Seanascal’s mouth tightened as his daughter’s had. The clansman was rangier than someone like Edward Deegan, who could (and did) put Diamond City Security on their asses with a single charge of a burly shoulder, but had more muscle on his frame than the wiry Hancock. He was also trained in more ways of violence than a half-dozen Neighbourhood Watch ghouls put together. If it turned into a fight, it could get ugly.            “Fine,” the ghoul finally conceded. “I don’t like it because ye’re too gentle. But that Sassenach man of yers might prove the steel in yer spine.”            Arthur’s smile was more of a smirk. “Gealbhan has her own steel.”            Hancock nodded to the older ghoul. “So, what’s your take on the situation?”            Seanascal began to talk and the Mayor sighed in relief at another crisis averted.…Danse wanted to be anywhere but this cesspit of decadence and iniquity. Stoned vagrants partied with each other in acts of shocking depravity, ghoul entwined with human without regard for proper morals. His very skin crawled at the close proximity of so many potential ferals. The air reeked of radiation and chemicals with the sour undertone of urine. And for some reason, they all assumed he was here to join them in their debauched celebration.            The Paladin was half-fearful he’d spot a Maxson’s distinctive blue eyes in the withered features of a ghoul or the slack ones of a drifter. Shreds of rumour and shards of truth scavenged from the dross of outlandish tales had led him from Little Lamplight to Rivet City, from Megaton to the Commonwealth. Always the same thread – a large man, head and shoulders over the average Wastelander, who wielded a brass-pommelled broadsword. Maxson blood bred true and this scion, placed in the only sanctuary where even the Enclave wouldn’t think to search, apparently ran in the same vein as his mighty ancestors.            It was just a damned shame that he’d taken to the life of a wandering mercenary before Danse could find him on his eviction from Little Lamplight.            “Arthur Maxson cut a deathclaw in two after it scarred his face. Arthur Maxson brought down an Enclave vertibird with a thrown grenade. Arthur Maxson threw a super mutant off a cliff. Arthur Maxson decapitated a behemoth that lived in Boston Common.”            Danse had learned the facts behind the tales. MacCready had blown the deathclaw’s head off with a remarkable feat of sniping. Arthur had brought the vertibird down with a grenade launder. The super mutant had fallen off the cliff during a scuffle over a Fat Man. The behemoth had already been killed by the work of two heavy hitters and an explosives expert.            The last had occurred yesterday. John Hancock, the ghoul who ‘ruled’ this vile pit, had sent out Maxson, a red-haired mercenary named Fahrenheit, and an Irish clanswoman to remove Swan and find another abomination, a synth ‘detective’ that called itself Nick Valentine. They succeeded in their mission and trade had already picked up with Swan removed. People were praising Hancock’s name like he was worthy of respect or something.            Danse had just managed to win free of the drug-fuelled orgy raging in front of the old building that Hancock reportedly lived in when a couple exited the red-bricked edifice. The female was fine-boned, Goodneighbour’s glaring neon lights turning the Irish-red tint to her hair a garish pink, and tucked against the side of the massive male who wore a heavy leather coat. Lovers, judging by the protective way the mercenary’s arm was wrapped around the woman’s waist.            Some of the latest rumours about Arthur Maxson added a long fleece-lined coat, which the man certainly had. There was no sword, but who would wear nearly four feet and five pounds of solid steel if he didn’t have to? Danse peered through the flickering lights, trying to determine whether the mercenary had a facial scar and those vivid blue eyes.            They veered around the corner and Danse shoved his way past two ghouls, uncaring of their muttered obscenities. He needed to confirm it was Arthur so the Brotherhood of Steel could decide on the best way to approach the Maxson heir.            Writing the report would probably take at least a week. How should I put it? ‘The current Maxson heir is the enforcer of a chem-addled ghoul in a pit of depravity to put New Vegas under the Courier to shame-‘            He wished someone else had been chosen for this mission. But Danse was the youngest Paladin to survive the fall of the Citadel and one of the few who saw Arthur as a baby.            The couple walked into an alleyway lined with ramshackle structures Danse couldn’t dignify with the description of building. “We should add a second storey to your place,” the man rasped conversationally. “That way, I can move my spring mattress in and use the bottom floor as storage.”            “Three days and you want us to move in together?” the woman asked in the Commonwealth’s peculiar clan accent with its lilt and ‘ahs’.            “Yes,” was his simple response. “We’re a good team. And you’re so beautiful I want to wake up to you every morning.”            ‘Oh, and did I mention the current Maxson heir is infatuated with an Irish clanswoman?’ The Council of Elders would shoot me for blasphemy.            “I feel safe around you,” the woman told him softly.            “I thought you didn’t need my protection,” the man who might be Arthur teased.            “In that I know you have my back.”            He lowered his head for a kiss, unconcerned by the fact anyone could be watching. Then the mercenary pushed the clanswoman behind him suddenly. “Get into your home,” he ordered softly. “We’re being watched.”            Danse swore inwardly. Stealth wasn’t his best skill and if he blew the mission, the Elders would crucify him. Possibly literally depending on how livid they were.            Then light rippled around a shadow, shattering with a buzz of electricity to reveal a black-coated male wearing mirrored shades. “Hand over the woman and you will be unharmed,” he demanded in a monotonous voice.            “Over my dead body,” snarled the mercenary.            “As you wish.”            No one should move as fast as the pale-skinned man in black leather did. He was on the potential Arthur within a heartbeat, hands and feet blurring as he landed blows relentlessly. The clanswoman dove into the fray with a nail-spiked board that she swung at the enemy’s back. The splintered wood broke on impact.            Danse’s primary mission was to locate Arthur Maxson. His secondary mission was to keep the lost heir alive. To hell with subtlety.            “Remember the Citadel!” The enemy’s eyes were drawn to him and a tight grin formed on thin lips.            “So some of the Brotherhood survived after all.”            “It will take more than the Enclave to destroy us,” Danse snarled, settling into a combative stance. He would die against someone this fast, seeing as he wasn’t wearing power armour. But the potential Maxson heir would live knowing that a Brotherhood Paladin had died for him. “I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel and I will send you back to hell.”            “If we’re making introductions, I am Z2-47, Courser of the Institute,” the enemy responded conversationally. “My mission is to acquire Sparrow Killian and does not include parameters for destroying a Brotherhood Paladin-“            The mercenary loomed up behind the Courser, an empty stimpak needle dropping to the ground, and wrapped a thick forearm around the synth’s throat. “Since we’re being so polite, I’m Arthur Maxson,” he said flatly as he throttled him efficiently, leaving just enough air for the abomination to respond. “Where is Shaun Finlay?”            “Safe,” the Courser whispered. “Sparrow, the Institute means you no harm. We want to keep you and your son safe.”            “You want to keep me as some fucking specimen in your lab,” the clanswoman retorted. “Well, I’m not going to cooperate nicely with C.I.T this time.”            Arthur’s arm tightened and with a mighty heave, he snapped the Courser’s neck. The synth went limp as an ordinary man would, the Maxson heir twisting his head the other way to make certain the spine was severed. If nothing else, he knew how to kill.            “I thought all the Brotherhood were dead,” panted the rightful heir to the High Eldership as he dropped the corpse.            “Most of Lyons’ Brotherhood fell when the Citadel did,” Danse admitted, fighting the urge to fall to one knee. No need to make this situation any more complicated than what it was. “The rest… fell back. We haven’t forgotten the Capital Wasteland or those who suffer under the Enclave’s hand.”            “Thank you for your intervention,” Sparrow offered, stepping past Arthur only to be swept behind him protectively. Maxsons fell hard and fast for those who caught their hearts; Danse hoped that this clanswoman who’d escaped the Institute somehow appreciated what she had.            “Why are you here?” Maxson demanded.            “I’m not at liberty to say,” Danse retorted. “Just be aware I’m not your enemy.”            “We owe him one,” Sparrow told Arthur. “There’s no need to be an ass.”            “His order would wipe out people like Nick and Hancock, Gealbhan,” was Arthur’s reply. “He’s probably a spy sent to scout out the Commonwealth. It’s more fertile and populous than the Capital Wasteland.”            “I was sent to find something,” Danse growled.            “What?” Arthur had settled into a fighting stance.            “I’m not at liberty to say. You’re welcome, by the way, for me saving you from that Courser.” Danse offered a courtly bow to Sparrow/Gealbhan behind Arthur. The Maxson heir had the manners of an ill-bred mongrel but his lady was gracious.            “I saved your life,” Arthur snapped. “You owe me answers.”            “Then you’re even,” the clanswoman said with a sigh. “Mo Dhia, Arthur! We need to tell Hancock that a Courser tried to kidnap someone from Goodneighbour.”            Maxson bestowed a fulminating glare upon the Paladin, who regarded him stonily. He’d complicated this mission considerably and it appeared Arthur had the wrong idea about the Brotherhood’s purpose.            The Elders were going to use his guts for power armour straps.            “You have fifteen minutes to leave Goodneighbour before I tell the Neighbourhood Watch there’s a Brotherhood soldier here,” Arthur finally threatened.            Danse bowed mockingly to the man he should be hailing as the Brotherhood’s lost heir. “I’ll be happy to wipe the muck of this place from my boots.”            “Lord save me from men and their egos,” Sparrow sighed.            “My thanks for the courtesy you have shown me, my lady. Ad Victoriam.” Danse bowed to her again and turned for the alleyway’s entrance.            The situation in the Commonwealth was dire if the Institute was actively interfering on the surface. Putting that in the report might just detract from him probably making an enemy of the last Maxson. Steel guide and preserve him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Arthur stood behind Gealbhan as she sat across from Nick, hands on the back of the old battered chair. The yellow-eyed, leather-skinned synth had more personality than half the residents of Goodneighbour and was showing genuine compassion to the clanswoman over the kidnapping of her son. He grimly confirmed the likelihood of the Institute stealing the boy and that it was Kellogg doing the dirty work. MacCready had been right about that at least.            “Kellogg used to have a home in the west stands,” the detective concluded once Gealbhan had finished talking. “You enough of Seanascal’s girl to be able to get access, one way or another?”            “I am,” she said with a sigh. “I also want to do this discreetly. Too much of Diamond City knows I exist and am a Killian already.”            “A Concord Killian no less,” Nick added. “Your dad wasn’t the only one who went ghoul when the bombs fell. Your mother was a power player in the Commonwealth for a good hundred or so years until she disappeared.”            “Lovely.” Gealbhan’s sarcasm could have been used to plaster the walls against bad weather, it was so thick.            “Indeed.” Nick’s yellow eyes switched to Arthur. “Kellogg’s been gone for the past few months but things could still be… awkward. Be ready for trouble.”            The mercenary nodded. After the altercation with that Brotherhood soldier, the one who made him feel uneasy on several levels, he was looking for something or someone to hit. This Kellogg would make a good punching bag.            It was a short walk to Kellogg’s house and Gealbhan picked the lock with a bobby pin. Inside, they had to find a concealed button to open the wall and reveal the secret room. Arthur pragmatically began to loot the mercenary’s goods as Nick and Gealbhan examined the comfortable leather chair and side table with some cigars and beer on it. “Plenty of clues here,” the synth detective said cheerfully. “We just need to bring in the right expert.”            “If we’re tracking him, we’ll need supplies for the trip,” Arthur pointed out. “I’ve got a few here but…”            “I sent Ellie out to get sleeping bags, purified water and medical supplies,” Nick answered. “The expert I’m calling can help you hunt for any extra food.”            Arthur smiled. He liked Nick, creepy synth face and all. “Are you up to the trip or do you want to stay here?”            “Honestly, I’m not comfortable hanging around. Piper Wright’s going to be all over this once she gets a whiff of the Institute being involved and I’m not in the mood to field questions after Skinny Malone.”            “Works for me.” Arthur looked down at Gealbhan, who was studying the cigars glumly. “Do you…?”            “I’m coming with you,” the Irish woman said fiercely. “That bastard took my son.”            “Then we’ll stock up on grenades.” He honestly felt better having her by his side. She was adapting quicker than he expected.            They left Kellogg’s house after Arthur looted it bare. Nick gave a piercing whistle and within the half-hour, a sleek, smart-eyed dog arrived with wagging tail. “Dogmeat’s an old friend of mine,” Nick explained as he knelt to let the canine sniff a cigar. “He can track a criminal across the Commonwealth.”            “Dogmeat? That was the name of the Lone Wanderer’s dog!” Arthur exclaimed.            “It’s a popular name out here.” Nick smiled at the happy hound. “Meet us at the entrance to Diamond City, Dogmeat. We just need some supplies.”            Dogmeat barked and trotted away.            “He’s smarter than some of the Neighbourhood Watch,” Arthur observed dryly.            “That’s not hard. Hancock hires for pity, not skill.”            By the time they found the dog again, they’d gotten supplies for a few days and Piper Wright stood before the exit ramp from Diamond City. One quick detour and they were heading to the Mayor’s office and the elevator there. Arthur appreciated the woman’s need for a story but damned if he was going to indulge it now.            Geneva smiled at him as they stepped off the lift. “Going somewhere?” she asked.            “Tracking a mercenary that was stupid enough to steal from a Killian,” Nick drawled sardonically.            “Oh dear.” The secretary shook her head. “Before you leave, the Mayor told me to let you know there was a house for sale. He really wants the Killians settled in Diamond City once more.”            “Given he threw the last lot out because they were ghouls, that’s pretty damned rich of him,” Gealbhan observed waspishly.            “There’s always the danger of ghouls going feral, sweetie,” Geneva answered sweetly. “Just because you’ve obviously been sheltered doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know this.”            “We should go,” Gealbhan said, turning away. “I don’t want to lose that son of a bitch.”            Arthur bowed politely to the secretary. Always wise to remain on her good side.            “Have a thing for blondes, hmm?” Gealbhan said in that deceptively mild tone women used when they were at their most dangerous in the elevator.            “I was being polite,” Arthur said defensively. “You didn’t seem to mind Danse bowing and scraping last night.”            “I was being polite,” she retorted. “You were a complete ass to the man who saved your life!”            “Because he belongs to an order that wants to kill people like your father, Hancock and Nick.” Arthur looked down at the slender Vault Dweller. “He was also evasive and followed us into that alley. I don’t trust his motives.”            “Who’s Danse?” Nick drawled as the elevator dinged.            “A Brotherhood of Steel Paladin who saved me from getting kidnapped by a Courser and Arthur from getting killed by the bastard,” Gealbhan answered before Arthur could.            “Huh, and here I thought the Enclave had wiped them out.” Nick opened the door. “Arthur’s right about them, I’m afraid. The Brotherhood of Steel’s no friend to sentient ghoul or synth. Hell, they hobble Mr Gutsy and Mr Handy models so badly they’re little better than first-gen model synths – dumb as rocks.”            “The Lyons weren’t so bad,” Arthur admitted reluctantly. “But I’d lose too many friends if the Brotherhood established a foothold in the Commonwealth.”            They walked past Danny Sullivan and out to Dogmeat, who barked with joy. One more sniff on the cigar and the chase was on.…Well, shit. He’d been hung out to dry by his employers.            Kellogg lit his last San Francisco Sunlight as the Gen-2 with delusions of personality, the big bastard with the broadsword and the last Vault Dweller he ever expected to see with a gun in her hands entered the room. A dog trotted at their heels – the damn mutt must have tracked him.            “Damn, Sparrow. I was expecting your husband,” he admitted starkly.            “If Nate were here, you’d already be dead,” she retorted. “We know the Institute has Shaun. One of their Coursers tried to kidnap me.”            Kellogg sighed, shaking his head. Fucking eggheads and their lack of professionalism. “Won’t lie. The Institute wants you bad. Something about ‘natural organic synthesis to-‘”            “I know why they want me and why they took Shaun,” Sparrow interrupted flatly. “I’m guessing the Gen-3 synths have problems with their chips integrating with their organic parts.”            “Pretty much.” Kellogg shrugged. “Way I see it, you got three choices. One is to turn back and walk away. Live a good life with Maxson here, have a few super-soldier kids. Two is to join the Institute. It’s a pretty good gig – a few samples taken here and there, you get to live in a clean, disease-free scientific utopia with a life even more luxurious than the one you knew in the pre-War world. Maybe you can even use that Ahern tongue of yours to sway them to the side of the angels.”            “What’s three?” Maxson asked, eyes narrowed.            “Go against the Institute and die.” Kellogg met the mercenary’s gaze. Too young, too cocky and too much in love. He’d die or wind up like him, broken-hearted and a sorry sack of shit. “They only need your genes, Sparrow, and they already have Shaun. Your corpse will just be a bonus.”            “How do we get in?” Nick demanded.            “Teleportation. I can’t even get in – they come to me with orders and payment.” Kellogg sighed again. “I’m sorry about how we got Shaun, I really am. We should have opened Nate’s pod, shot him, and then taken you and the kid to safety. But I didn’t think Finlay would move that-“            Pain blossomed in his knee and a started Kellogg collapsed to the ground. Before he could reach for his .44 pistol, Sparrow Killian shot him in the other knee, the cybernetic one, and his cybernetic arm until both limbs were sparking uselessly.            “You have answers in that brain of yours and I have someone who can get them,” she observed, looking so much like her mother it was uncanny. “I only need your brain, not the entirety of you, but I don’t believe in executing people in cold blood.”            “And Elisabeth Ahern acted like you were a disappointment.” Kellogg couldn’t help laughing. “You know if I agree to work with you, the remaining synths will turn against me.”            Nick finished typing on Kellogg’s personal terminal. “You mean the Gen-1s and Gen-2s I just reprogrammed?”            Kellogg couldn’t stop laughing. Damn, he’d been outwitted by a Gen-2 and a Vault Dweller. The Directorate was going to have fits but what the hell. He might as well cooperate to piss off the bastards who left him to die.            “Fine, I’ll do it. If only to see the expression on the Director’s face when she finds out.” Kellogg eyed the little fine-boned clanswoman. “We’ll probably all die, you know.”            “We all do, even synths and ghouls I imagine,” she responded. “Nick, get those synths to carry him. Might as well make use of them.”            “Great minds think alike,” Valentine agreed.            It took two trips to go in the elevator, Maxson watching him the whole time. “What do you mean by ‘super-soldier kids’?” the young man finally asked.            “Mine to know and yours to find out,” Kellogg said with a smirk.            “Once we have your knowledge, we don’t need you,” Maxson threatened. “And unlike Gealbhan, I have no problem with killing a man in cold blood.”            “I like you,” Kellogg admitted cheerfully. “Word of advice from one merc to another: if you love her, walk away. I failed the woman I loved by staying with her. Women like Sparrow don’t deserve men like us.”            “I’m not like you,” Maxson said flatly.            “You’re exactly like the man I was before I lost Sarah and Mary. Piss and vinegar under a veneer of toughness.” Kellogg was actually trying to be helpful here.            “Go fuck yourself.” They emerged onto the roof, where Nick had already opened the door.            Kellogg might have said more but a big fucking airship crossed the Commonwealth’s airspace. “People of the Commonwealth. Do not interfere. Our intentions are peaceful. We are the Brotherhood of Steel.”            “Self-righteous tech-stealing twats,” Kellogg said calmly. “Knew them out west. Fuckers were inbred tech-hoarders who considered themselves better than anyone else.”            “Lyons’ lot were a bit more open-minded,” Nick observed. “But damn, we do not need these assholes here.”            “Amen, dick, amen.”            “That’s synth detective, asshole.”            “Can someone tell me what this means?” Sparrow’s voice was trembling with something that might be fear. Good. As the cyborg daughter of an Enclave official, she should be. The Brotherhood held grudges forever.            It was Arthur who spoke. Oh, the irony of a Maxson loathing and fearing the Brotherhood of Steel. “War. War like Lyons led, according to the stories, where he purged feral ghouls and super mutants from the Capital Wasteland. War like where Sarah Lyons died because the Enclave won’t tolerate a resurgent Brotherhood of Steel. In short, war in the Commonwealth, and I think we’re all fucked.”            “Mo Dhia,” the clanswoman breathed. “May God have mercy on us all.”            He wouldn’t, because He didn’t exist. But Kellogg, while being an asshole, wasn’t one hundred percent a dick. He’d let her keep her illusions a little while longer.            “Amen,” he repeated instead. “Amen.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It wasn’t every day she spared the life of a ruthless mercenary in the employ of the Institute, watched an invading army sail overhead and return to Goodneighbour with a bevy of hacked synths. The expressions on her father and John Hancock’s ghoulish faces were almost hilarious until the former cracked his knuckles. “Leave him to me, colleen,” the former Enclave agent ordered.            “No. I’m getting Amari to scan him,” Gealbhan insisted, meeting Seanascal’s black eyes firmly. “Torture does nothing but muddy the waters.”            “Besides, my pain receptors have been shut down,” Kellogg added with grim cheer. “Won’t get anything out of me that way.”            “Take him to the Memory Den,” Hancock said. “Maxson, I need you in my office. We need to discuss the Brotherhood of Steel.”            Arthur inclined his head. “Agreed. Gealbhan-“            “I’ll be with Nick and Kellogg,” she interrupted.            “Understood.” His lips curved in the shadow of a smile, earlier jealousy over Danse apparently forgotten, and followed the Mayor of Goodneighbour into his home.            Seanascal scowled at the crippled mercenary. “Ye cooperate or I’ll kill ye.”            “Been waiting to die for years,” Kellogg retorted. “So go fuck a barrel cactus, Frances with an E.”            Gealbhan closed her eyes as the sound of the ghoul’s fist hitting Kellogg’s cheek echoed throughout the square. “Dad, can you hack the synths to see if there’s anything useful? We’ll need to take them apart anyway.”            “Fine.” Seanascal obeyed with ill grace. Becoming a ghoul had worsened her dad’s already volatile Irish temper.            “I’d be calling myself something else if my name was spelt like his too,” Kellogg drawled.            “Granma Killian named him for her Sassenach mother,” Gealbhan observed with a sigh. “Please don’t provoke anyone. I won’t save you from the consequences of being a smartass.”            Between them and a Neighbour Watch ghoul, they were able to take Kellogg to the Memory Den. Dr Amari, on discovering that this was a man with inside knowledge of the Institute, dropped everything to hook him up to one of her machines after giving him some basic medical care. She cursed softly as the television flashed. “It’s encrypted. But I think we can get around this.”            The doctor turned to Nick. “Institute architecture is the same. If you’ll allow me to hook your brain up to Kellogg’s, we may get somewhere.”            Gealbhan stared at the robotic reincarnation of her godfather. “Will he be okay?”            Nick’s tattered lips smiled. “It’s alright. I’m years past the use-by date. We need to find Shaun.”            Gealbhan nodded and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Uncle Nick.”            Once the sound of tapping keys was over, Amari touched her shoulder. “Watch,” she said softly. “You may see things I will miss.”            Gealbhan nodded obediently and settled in as the sorry life story of Conrad Kellogg played out on television.…“Can we not do that again? I think my subroutines are rattled.”            “That makes two of us.”            “Do you feel any side effects?” Amari asked, looking between the two.            “Other than the need for a bottle of Gwinett Stout and a good cigar, I’m fine,” Nick replied.            Kellogg was massaging his jaw gingerly with his remaining hand. “I feel like I should have a hole in my cheek.”            “Don’t tell Seanascal that. He might oblige you,” Nick said dryly.            “Trust me, I won’t. By the way, don’t tell that asshole my childhood nickname was Connie. I’ll never hear the end of it.”            The banter was far too light for the harrowing tale Gealbhan had just witnessed, narrated by Conrad’s own special brand of dry cynical sarcasm. The mercenary was almost a hundred and thirty years old… and had been recruited by Elisabeth Ahern after disrupting Institute operations.            “I won’t tell Dad your nickname’s Connie if you don’t tell him I broke into your house,” she said flippantly.            Kellogg smirked. “You might as well have the place, sweetheart. If your dad doesn’t kill me, the old woman will.”            Ah yes, the old woman. The Director of the Institute. The woman who’d ordered the kidnapping of Shaun and the deaths of everyone else in Vault 111, in addition to whatever scientific atrocities the Institute had performed. “That’s kind of you, but I have a place here. As to how we can protect you-“            “Leave that to me,” Dr Amari said firmly. “I know some people who will be very interested in what Kellogg’s head contains. Let them take charge of him.”            “The Railroad? Jesus, just shoot me now.” Kellogg grimaced disgustedly.            “No. You have to atone and how better than helping the Railroad free synths.” Amari’s expression was stern. “You know the Gen-3s are sapient and human.”            “They’re smart, sure, but they ain’t human,” Kellogg countered. “But fine, whatever. I’ve given you what I know.”            Gealbhan winced. Sure, what he revealed would help – if the next source of information wasn’t in the middle of a fucking radioactive wasteland known as the Glowing Sea.            “Send your father and hope he doesn’t go feral from the rads,” Kellogg advised softly. “Look, I’m sorry about Shaun. I’m sorry I didn’t manage to shoot that dickhead you call a husband too.”            She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Nate made it abundantly clear our marriage was over when I was exiled from Sanctuary Hills. Once I have something concrete, I’ll let him know. If anyone knows infiltration, it’s him.”            “Kid would be better off without him,” Kellogg said softly. “I read his Enclave file. You don’t know the half of it.”            “He’s still Shaun’s father.” She sighed and turned away. “Thanks, Kellogg. I do wish you the best of luck.”            Somewhere along the line she’d forgiven him. Maybe it was seeing the heartrending series of events that made him the ruthless merc he was today. Maybe it was knowing his nickname was Connie. Maybe it was because he appeared genuinely repentant.            Outside, she inhaled deeply and tasted the unique stench of Goodneighbour on her tongue, it was so thick. She wished she could return to the comfortable confidence of Daytripper but that blessing was lost to her. She’d sworn on the Bible she’d never touch chems again.            “Did ye find anything useful?” It was her father.            “Plenty, Dad. But tell me something – what do they mean by ghouls going feral?”            A gravelly sigh was her answer. “Radiation heals us. It can also rot our brains, turning us into feral animals. Figured that’s what happened to yer Ma after she disappeared.”            “So sending you to the Glowing Sea is a bad idea?”            “Aye.” A rough hand squeezed her shoulder gently from behind. “What will ye do now?”            “Find someone who can traverse the Glowing Sea to find our next source of information,” Gealbhan said over her shoulder. “Here’s to hoping they’re friendly enough to do it.”            “Perhaps the Brotherhood of Steel may be of service, my lady. We have power armour, anti-radiation medication and our own reasons to find any source of information about the Institute we can.”…“Given that you belong to an order dedicated to wiping out people like my father and Uncle Nick, you possess a great deal of courage to walk into Goodneighbour announcing your allegiance,” the fine-boned woman observed dryly, turning around to face Danse.            In daylight, her true colouring of chestnut hair, rosy skin and huge radstag-doe eyes was revealed. If she’d belonged to anyone else but the last Maxson, Danse might have dared to consider courting her. He quashed such unwise thoughts. She was Lady Maxson in all but name, even if Arthur was shaping up to be a royal pain in the ass, if he could permit himself such crude thoughts.            “The Brotherhood knows how to pick its battles,” Danse said carefully now that he understood who the bald ghoul between him and Gealbhan was.            “Uh huh. And the Enclave kicked yer asses for it.” Frances Killian sounded positively amused.            “I wouldn’t take too much joy in that, ghoul. They’ll kill you as a mutated creature of the Wasteland quicker than any Brother.”            “They’ve been trying for years. The Autumns were always fucking amateurs when it came to choosing assassins.” Now Killian was openly mocking. “We don’t need ye. Nick can travel through the Glowing Sea-“            “Alone? A Gen-2 synth that’s about a century old?” Danse regarded the ghoul grimly. “You can’t go, Lady Gealbhan-“ He stumbled over the unfamiliar Irish name but since she appeared to prefer it, courtesy dictated he use it. “Lady Gealbhan can’t go, neither can Maxson. The Brotherhood can send its best people. I’ll likely be leading the mission and my team’s one of the finest.”            “Paladin, your order’s reputation isn’t the best between here and whatever they did out West,” Gealbhan said gently. “Very few people in the Commonwealth trust you to the best of my knowledge. Bringing an army hasn’t helped matters either.”            “You know little on our order.” Danse softened his tone. “The Brotherhood of Steel was founded in the wake of the Great War. It seeks to understand technology, its nature and its dangers, and to make certain that humanity would never again misuse it as was done in the pre-War world.”            “In other words, they locate tech-rich regions, strip them bare and move on,” Killian said dryly. “Unless they feel like a spot of conquest.”            Danse reminded himself that killing Frances Killian, no matter how long justice was overdue for the Enclave agent, in front of his daughter would be a serious breach of etiquette. “I’m sorry, would you prefer the Institute that stole your grandson?”            Gealbhan flinched. “Paladin, you followed Arthur and I into the alley the other night before the Courser appeared. Why?”            “My lady, I would be glad to tell you but not in Goodneighbour. We have a compound in Cambridge and now hold Boston Airport. If you come, it’s imperative you bring Maxson with you.” Danse caught and held her gaze, projecting every bit of sincerity he possessed. “The Brotherhood are not your enemies.”            “You sure as hell aren’t our friends,” Killian observed flatly.            “I’m not the one trying to start conflict, ghoul.” Danse glanced away from the suddenly blushing Gealbhan to glare at Killian.            “Your presence here is an invitation to war.”            Danse would have replied appropriately but something hit him with the force of a charging deathclaw and drove him to the filthy cobblestoned street. His hand-to-hand combat kicked in and the aggressor found himself flipped on his back, an infuriated Paladin straddling him as he punched the last Maxson in the gut twice to settle him down. “As I was saying,” he repeated. “I’m not the one trying to start conflict.”            Arthur’s blue eyes popped out as he struggled for breath. Danse felt small hands wrap around his bicep as he drew back his fist for a third blow. Knocking the bastard out and dragging him back to Cambridge was sorely tempting. The man sorely needed military discipline before he lived up to his illustrious name.            “Stop it,” Gealbhan pleaded. She was holding his arm back.            Maxson took advantage of Danse’s distraction to drive his fist into the Paladin’s groin. If only it had been prudent to wear power armour, Danse thought distantly as he rolled off the mercenary, clutching his balls.            Killian was openly laughing. “Still causing brawls, colleen?”            “Given that Arthur flirts with McDonough’s secretary every chance he gets, he’s got a real hide to get jealous over Danse being polite to me,” Gealbhan shot back.            “Colleen, the man was eyeing ye with lust,” Killian observed dryly.            “So? I wouldn’t cheat on Arthur.” Gealbhan regarded her father and Maxson reproachfully. “I’m me. Gealbhan Killian. Not Seanascal’s daughter. Not Maxson’s woman. Not Nate Finlay’s chem-addicted ex-wife. Not even Shaun’s lousy mother. I’m me and I’d appreciate you all remembering that.”            Danse certainly would. Regrettably, two burly ghouls in sharp suits dragged him outside the gates and dumped him there. He’d have to send someone else after Arthur Maxson because it was obvious the lost Brotherhood heir wasn’t inclined to be friendly towards him. Maybe Haylen. She was a Wastelander before joining the order.            He just hoped that Gealbhan would remember what he said. They needed the Brotherhood whether they knew it or not.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Arthur found Gealbhan resting her forehead on the corrugated iron wall of her sleeping place and walked up to wrap his arms around her. She leaned against him, sighing heavily, and he echoed the sound. The past few days had been stressful beyond words for both of them. “I’ve been an ass,” he admitted into her hair.            “We both have,” she agreed.            “What did the good Paladin want?” he asked as neutrally as possible.            “Aside from offering the Brotherhood’s aid in navigating the Glowing Sea – because that’s where our next source of information is – he told me that if we wanted answers, you and I would have to go to Cambridge Police Station or the Boston Airport.” Gealbhan looked up at him with those doe-brown eyes. “Both of us.”            “What do they want with us?” Arthur released Gealbhan to walk the two paces of her shack. They should talk to Hancock about upgrading soon. At least the clinic was nearly ready to open.            “Maybe they’re descendants of the Knights of the Round Table and you’re the reincarnation of King Arthur,” the Irishwoman observed with a wry smile. “You’ve got the requisite background – abandoned at birth with nothing but your name, the fancy sword…”            “That’s me, the missing King of the Brotherhood of Steel,” Arthur retorted sarcastically. “Do you reckon I could talk them into not being such assholes?”            “I don’t think Mary, Jesus and Joseph could manage that,” Gealbhan said ruefully. “Danse seems decent enough.”            “Only because you’re pretty,” Arthur said sourly. Danse was handsome, almost ridiculously so, with the kind of growly baritone that made women melt into puddles. Throw in the overblown manners – bowing, for fuck’s sake! – and Arthur wanted to punch him again.            Bastard fought dirty though. Arthur could respect that.            “And Geneva wasn’t eyeing you up like a Brahmin steak being dangled in front of a dog?” Gealbhan countered. “You’re a very handsome man, Arthur Maxson.”            He shrugged and glanced away. With the scar on his cheek, he wasn’t that handsome. “I’m trying to stay on her good side. McDonough’s hiding something and every bit of Diamond City paperwork passes across that woman’s desk.”            “And I’m sure Danse is doing the same thing with me,” Gealbhan pointed out.            “Is it working?”            “Very few people are annoyed by good manners,” was her response. “But I’m here with you, Arthur Maxson.”            That was true. Arthur drew her into an embrace that ended with his mouth on hers, tasting the remnants of broiled radroach and whiskey. Everything had been a whirlwind since Gealbhan arrived in Goodneighbour. Now they were at an impasse because of the Glowing Sea. No one really knew how deep the radioactive mess went so they couldn’t even find enough RadAway to travel through it. The next source of information had chosen their hidey-hole well.            She peeled off his battlecoat and leathers as he mouthed the side of her neck. Intoxicating and fiery like the best whiskey. He’d bet Danse was a whiskey drinker, the bastard.            How much of it is the Paladin was being polite to her and not you? His conscience liked to speak at the most inconvenient moments, like when Gealbhan engulfed his cock with her wet hot mouth and began to suck.            Shut up. Arthur focused on the sensation of the blowjob, biting his lip to keep quiet. He wanted to bellow so loud that Danse would hear him wherever the Neighbourhood Watch had dragged him to. But all that would do was get Hancock asking if he could join the party.            Arthur liked and respected Hancock, but the ghoul wasn’t his idea of a lover.            He came with a strangled grunt before Gealbhan sat on her heels, still fully clothed, and licked her lips. She had no problems with swallowing, it seemed.            “Get out of your clothing,” Arthur rasped.            She obeyed, making a big production out of it until he was hard once more, bringing herself almost to climax. Nearly thirty years old and Arthur had never met a woman like the Vault Dweller – sensual, vulnerable yet not without her own strengths. No wonder he’d fallen hard.            When he took Gealbhan, it was like lock and key fitting together. Arthur remembered her clit this time around and rubbed it at the same tempo as his thrusts. Their exhaustion worked with them, the slow languorous pace so different to their frantic first time, and when he came on the heels of her tightening sheath and low keen, he felt too tired to do more than lay down beside her.            “We need a better mattress,” he mumbled into her hair.            “Sure. I keep one behind my fully stocked refrigerator out the back,” she muttered in reply.            Arthur chuckled sleepily. “I have one. Hancock will probably want to assign my space to someone else if we’re sharing this place, but I can grab the mattress.”            “He’s a good man.” Gealbhan was almost asleep now.            “I know. He has his flaws but… I know.”            He drifted off into sleep, holding the woman he knew he was beginning to love.…“Kellogg’s right about the rads. Me and Seanascal might go feral in the Glowing Sea.” Hancock sighed after Gealbhan explained the problem with finding the next source of intelligence on the Institute. He was glad they made up last night. Jealousy was the bane of all new relationships and that Paladin was trying to get to Maxson for some reason.            “Nick’s too fragile,” the Irish ghoul added. “Power armour might get ye through the rads but fusion cores are bloody expensive to get a hold of.”            “So we either make up enough RadAway to drown a deathclaw or approach the Brotherhood for help.” Arthur grimaced in distaste that the ghouls shared. Fucking bigoted assholes.            “There’s a couple other options,” Hancock said, steepling his fingers. “One is to contact the Railroad. They’ll owe you for Kellogg and who knows what resources they have?”            “What’s the other?” Gealbhan asked.            “A while ago, the Commonwealth had its own militia, the Minutemen,” Hancock replied. “Forty years ago, they lost their base to something that crawled out of the fucking sea, but managed to hang on until… hmm… how long ago was Quincy?”            “About two or so months ago,” Seanascal said. “Given that the Gunners and Corvega raiders chased the survivors across the Commonwealth, the last Minutemen are probably dead.”            “I love your optimism. I really do.” Hancock regarded his fellow ghoul wryly. “Still, if we can reignite the ideal of the Minutemen – or hell, just raid their remaining stores at the Castle – we might just have a chance of finding this Virgil chap without needing the Brotherhood of fucking Steel.”            Seanascal scratched his chin. “I was part of the Minutemen from McGann to Beckett. I know Ronnie Shaw’s settled down up north and she used to be a Major. Can’t see all of Hollis’ people up and dying so easily either.”            Then the Enclave ghoul smiled evilly. “Hancock, your idea’s better than you realise. The Castle had old pre-War anti-aircraft artillery. The Brotherhood try anything once we get those guns up and running, we could have ourselves a balloon-popping contest.”            Gealbhan’s mouth tightened. “So what, we’ll have ourselves another arms race? Because that worked so well before the bombs fell.”            Seanascal regarded his daughter reproachfully. “Ye’d be safe under Brotherhood rule, colleen, but Hancock and I would be the first to die. I prefer to think of it as making sure those assholes don’t get any ideas.”            Arthur folded his arms. “I don’t trust the Brotherhood as far as I can throw that fucking airship of theirs. But I think we need to do this on the down-low, because if they’re anything like the Capital Brotherhood, we might very well be in trouble. I’d also bet the Enclave is looking north. They don’t want the Brotherhood around either… and they won’t ally with Goodneighbour. They think everyone outside of Vault Dwellers or their own ranks is a filthy mutated abomination.”            “So the Brotherhood would only exterminate ghouls, synths and super mutants while the Enclave would probably wipe out everyone bar the survivors of Vault 111, Vault 81 and possibly the Institute,” Gealbhan said grimly.            “Pretty much, colleen.” Seanascal made the admission sourly.            “Tairiscint do lámh ach coinnigh an ceann eile ar do gunna.” The old proverb fell from her lips easily. “The Enclave and Institute are greater threats in the short term than the Brotherhood. If they’d really wanted to wipe out Goodneighbour, they could have suited up about twenty Danses and cleaned us all out in an hour.”            Hancock grimaced. “So we make nice with the Brotherhood on one hand…”            “While refounding the Minutemen with the other,” Gealbhan finished. “Dad, your organisational skills would be suited to the latter job while I handle the former. Danse was really keen on Arthur and I speaking to the Brotherhood after all.”            “I don’t like it,” Seanascal said sourly. “But ye’re right, colleen.”            It was funny how the old ghoul was learning to actually listen to Gealbhan instead of treating her like a child. Hancock didn’t know the whole story but he knew the Vault Dweller was a lot tougher than they’d all assumed. She was just deathclaw bait outside of a settlement. Good thing she had Arthur.            “I’m not happy with it myself,” the mercenary admitted. “But I want to know why the Brotherhood is so damned interested in me.”            “I think he’s their missing King Arthur,” Gealbhan said with a smirk.            Seanascal snickered. “The Brotherhood’s chosen one a friend to ghouls and synths? I’d pay good caps to see their reaction.”            Hancock knew the tale of King Arthur. “Well, we have King Arthur. That would make you Guinevere, Gealbhan. Does that make Paladin Danse Lancelot?”            “I hope not,” Seanascal observed. “The colleen has too much sense to run off with some Brotherhood jackass.”            “Lancelot never existed in the oldest tales,” Gealbhan pointed out. “The French added him. You know how they like their ménage a trois.”            “Now I know why Miss Nannies turn me on when they speak,” Hancock smirked. One of the older ghouls had told him their accent was called ‘French’ and he certainly knew what ménage a trois meant.            “I’d say something about you being shameless but… well, I was no good little Catholic schoolgirl at college,” Gealbhan admitted with a chuckle.            Hancock eyes the Vault Dweller curiously. “College?”            “It was like school… after school,” she explained. “I went there to study Humanities and Law during the week and…” She glanced in her father’s direction and shook her head. “I’ll save the weekend stories for when my father’s not around.”            Hancock found himself grinning. “I find myself intrigued.”            “I’m taken, John Hancock,” Gealbhan said mildly.            “And I don’t screw employers,” Arthur added dourly.            “Breaking my heart over here, people.” Hancock grinned at the exasperated Seanascal. “See, I told you your daughter was a good fit in Goodneighbour.”            “Yeah, yeah. Used to drive Liz up the wall.” The ghoul shrugged. “Didn’t care myself so long as it wasn’t any of my boys. Then she had to go and marry Nate.”            “Not one of my better life choices,” Gealbhan muttered under her breath.            “I noticed.” Seanascal’s voice was as dry as the legendary Mojave.            Arthur cleared his throat. “So we’ll rest up for a few days before going to see the Brotherhood at Cambridge? Gealbhan can run the clinic while we’re here and I can restock a few things.”            “Works for me,” Hancock confirmed. “Seanascal, think you can take the Castle back quietly? Might as well get the base before anything else.”            “Probably,” he said. “I don’t know if I’d make a good General, but might keep me busy for the next few decades.”            Hancock wasn’t entirely comfortable with Seanascal as General of the Minutemen but… he’d be perfect for getting them started. And with enemies like the Institute and the Enclave, the old ghoul might be the best choice, even if he was an asshole.            “Good. I want the Castle in our hands before you approach the Brotherhood. I like the idea of keeping my hand on my gun as I offer the other to the bastards.”