Headquarters: Capital Wasteland - Chapter Fifty Four (Patreon)

Hello everyone! So, quick note, if you haven't seen it, I've posted a new Snippet this past weekend. In case you've missed it or forgotten, this is a monthly snippet release that is going to serve as a testing ground for new story ideas. These snippets will be around four chapters long and as they are potential future stories, your comments and likes really help me figure out which stories make it! So please, take a look and tell me what you think! Now enjoy the chapter!

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Both Johnson and I stopped where we were, eyes on the power armor-clad warriors, the rest of my soldiers pulling in close, tension suddenly spiking. My mind spun around quickly, trying to consider every angle. Unfortunately, unless I was willing to abandon my soldiers, there was really only one thing we could do that would actually have a chance at working.

“Should we retreat?” Johnson asked, hands gripping his rifle, though it remained at his side rather. “Find more tactical ground?” 

“No. Getting violent with them isn’t an option, not yet at least,” I said with a frown. “I want to work with them, and they could crush us if they wanted to. If everything is more realistically sized here, their chapter is likely hundreds, if not thousands, of people. That power armor alone is likely to be too much for our armor-piercing to get through, with the exception of maybe our M40s.”

“Dammit,” Johnson said with a grunt, though there wasn't any real heat to it. “Does that mean…?”

“Yup. Time for diplomacy.” 

“I hate diplomacy.”

I shook my head and chuckled as we approached the group, Johnson's humor serving to at least partially uncoil the tension that had seized us. As we got closer, I motioned for everyone to keep their guns aimed at the ground or slung to the side, so that we didn't appear threatening. While I knew that the local chapter of the Brotherhood was generally friendly towards the locals, I had no idea how these individuals would react.

Since he was partially turned towards us, Carlos was the one who spotted me first. He gestured to us as we approached, prompting the power armor-clad individuals to turn, giving me my first front-on view of power armor since I arrived here. 

I had to admit, it was extremely impressive. 

It definitely seemed that the Fallout 4 style armor was considered the “true” power armor here, as the suit was massive. It moved with deliberate, heavy motions, and as they stepped, I could both feel and hear it. The vibrations from each step were just barely detectable through the ground, while the armor's internals slowly shifted with movement, making whiring and clunking sounds of their own. One of them was in a T-60 variant of power armor, while the other two were in the T-45 variant.

It was hard to describe the difference between the two armors, as they were both just huge humanoid tanks, but the T-60 was definitely more refined, like someone had taken the T-45 and gone, "Okay, that's great, so what's next?"

Despite my apprehension, I continued to approach, stopping just a few feet from the trio, mostly ignoring the five soldiers standing behind them. Since I knew the T-60 was slightly superior to the T-45 in terms of stats and tech, I assumed he was the leader, especially since he had been the one talking to Carlos.

“Afternoon, folks,” I said. “Everything alright?”

“Are you the leader of this group?” Asked the man inside the T-60, his voice filtered through the power armor's speakers.

“I am the leader of Wasteland Company, yes,” I responded with a nod. “How can we help the Brotherhood of Steel?” 

“We were on a patrol to clear out some stubborn raiders when we spotted your… rather interesting group,” he explained, nodding his head towards our waiting mounts. “Your robots, I've never seen anything like them. What are they exactly?”

“Robotic camels,” I responded. “As for what these are specifically, I’m afraid I don’t quite know. They came with our latest shipment of supplies, recent additions to our forces to expand our range.” 

“Where exactly are you from?” He asked. “I don’t recognize your group or your gear.”

“We come from the North West,” I explained, aiming for somewhere I was relatively sure there were no major Brotherhood forces, even though I knew this chapter was already rather isolated. “Our region recently became stable enough that our leaders decided it was time to expand and seek new groups to help grow.”

“You’ve settled nearby then?” 

I paused, looking from him to Carlos, trying to convey my discomfort with his question without flat-out saying it. Thankfully, he picked up on my concern and reacted. His armor stiffened, and after a moment it beeped. The back hatch opened with a hiss of shifting parts, and he stepped out, walking around his armor. 

He was dressed in an orange and olive-green undersuit, with the Brotherhood of Steel symbol on his chest, which was a grey circle, embraced by wings, with a simple sword over it, and three gears of various sizes behind it, locked in the circle.

“Here, maybe this will help,” He said as he stepped past his armor, extending his hand. “I am Paladin Walters. This is Knight Anderson and Knight Frost. I don’t blame you for being hesitant to reveal your exact location, especially since it seems like you're new to the area.”

To match his display of trust, at least in spirit, I reached up and pulled off my helmet, Johnson following suit. I then accepted his handshake, noting the Paladin’s firm but not aggressive grip. 

“I am General Connor, leader of this new branch of Wasteland Company,” I explained. “This is my second in command, Sergeant Johnson, and you've already met Corporal Carlos.” 

“It's good to meet you,” He said. “I apologize for pushing for info about your robots, but the Brotherhood’s mission, or one of them at least, is focused on the protection of technology, both to protect it from being destroyed and the people who would misuse or endanger themselves with it.”

“We know of your group," I admitted, looking over his power armor for a moment. "And while I know your chapters vary in… intensity, I have respect for your overall mission. Technology can be dangerous to those who don't understand it or its repercussions.”

“That is about the politest way I have heard people refer to our more extreme chapters,” he responded with a chuckle out of him. “May I ask what you are doing so close to the Citadel, our home?” 

“We are on our way to Rivet City, to trade our goods and hopefully establish connections with the area,” I explained, gesturing to the packs of goods strapped to the backs of our mounts. “We have low-caliber ballistic weapons and medical supplies, sent right from home. Command might eventually send a better variety later, but for now, this is what we have.”

For a moment, he paused, turning to look at the camels. I could practically feel his desire to ask if he could see. In all likelihood, he would have if we were a random merchant group or normal civilians, but he was likely hesitant to put his foot down for an apparently friendly group, one that could make things like our camels.

“Would you like to see?” I asked, catching his attention. “Normally, I wouldn’t volunteer, but if you were as close to our home as we are, I would be interested as well.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the gesture,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Sentinel Lyons would have likely chewed me out if I didn’t ask.”

I nodded and led him closer to the camels, showing them off before opening some of the bags strapped to them. Unsurprisingly, he seemed shocked by the quality of both the guns and the medical supplies. 

“Where did you find these?” he asked, turning a stimpak over in his hands. “I don’t believe I have ever seen a stimpak at this level of quality before.”

“We produce them,” I explained. “Or, rather, our home produces them.”

“Incredible. We, of course, produce some medicine in small batches, but we have to reuse sterilized injectors,” he admitted, being frankly quite open about their operations. “At what scale are you producing them?”

“Enough that we can sell them pretty consistently for prices that are more than fair,” I said, the Paladin nodding in understanding. “Part of it is merit-based. Prospering bases receive better options for future growth. Our mounts are recent arrivals for that reason.”

I was spitting so much bullshit now that I was worried I might actually start tasting it. Part of me was concerned that I was setting up for one hell of a reveal later, but that was always going to be the case. The system that the HQ ran on was reality-breaking, ex nihilo type bullshit. Learning that our distant support structure didn’t actually exist would barely even register as a blip in comparison.

“Interesting,” he responded simply, putting the stimpak back in the bag. “Well, I should thank you for being reasonable about all of this. Your corporal said you were dealing with the raiders under the bridge?” 

“Yeah, we drew them out and let our snipers deal with most of them,” I explained. “Have you had issues with them before?” 

“Frequently,” He admitted with a frown. “For some reason, when the raiders see a bridge, they immediately think it's a good place to settle in. Probably hoping they will be able to pick off travelers and merchants. That's who we were out here to take down, so you saved us some microfusion cells.”

“Happy to help Brotherhood logistics keep up,” I said, smiling as the Paladin chuckled and nodded. 

He looked at a few more bags, selecting them at random before standing up and making his way back to his power armor. Before he climbed in, he leaned against the massive metal frame. 

“Well, listen, you’ve satisfied my curiosity, even if I wish I could learn more about your four-legged transports,” he said, looking back at them before focusing back on me. “Unfortunately, I know the scribes and my superiors aren’t going to be nearly as happy with me. How would you feel about sticking around for a while, meeting with some of the smarter people who boss me around? I know the scribes would love the chance to take a poke at your robot animals.”

I did my best to keep a frown off my face, considering his suggestion. While I was inclined to agree to a meeting, I was a lot less enthused by the idea of a scribe, the Brotherhood's equivalent of a scientist or record keeper, sticking their noses into something we needed to get home. Granted, making more wasn’t exactly the greatest struggle, killing to zoomorphs in the Horizon world and dragging them to the connection point wasn’t too difficult, but it still felt like a step too far.

“I would be willing to talk to someone, though I would prefer to stay outside the range of your walls,” I responded. “As for your scribes… Assuming they are your scientists, I would allow a visual inspection, but nothing more. We are also on a schedule, dictated by supplies...” 

“We wouldn’t keep you that long, but I’m sure Elder Lyons would compensate you for your time,” He assured me. “In fact… we would likely be interested in purchasing your medical supplies at least.” 

That caught my interest, as being the primary supplier for the Brotherhood would make us a vital resource, one to be protected and nurtured. It would also make us something they might wish to absorb, but if we maintained that our resources came from outside our base, we would be safe from that. At least temporarily

It was starting to be a bit of a tightrope walk to keep track of, and I was nervously waiting to see if the trees were rustling with a gust or a light breeze. 

“We cannot sell it all, but I would be happy to hear an offer.”

“Great! That I'm sure that will make everyone happy to hear,” He said, before climbing into his power armor, letting it seal him inside. “Would you prefer to wait here?” 

I frowned and looked around, hoping to see something that could serve as a meeting place. A quick look showed a nearby Red Rocket fueling station. It was a full station, something that would have looked more at home in Fallout 4, with a large awning, a double garage, and a bi concrete pad under it all. There were quite a few cars around, but all of them were burned out, and there was plenty of room in the garages.

“I think the Red Rocket would serve as a decent meeting point,” I pointed out, and he nodded.

“That works for me,” he said with a nod. “Sit tight, and we will be back in an hour or so.” 

I nodded, and after a few more goodbyes, the three power armor-clad soldiers left, the combat armor soldiers jogging behind them to keep up. When they disappeared around the corner, I sagged slightly, running my hand over my face. 

“That could have gone a lot worse,” Johnson said, stepping forward to stand beside me. “Think he was being genuine?”

“No idea,” I responded, before turning to Carlos, who straightened like I was about to yell at him. “Relax, there’s nothing you could have done.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now take three other soldiers up that building,” I said, gesturing to the mostly intact structure that the BOS members had just walked around. “Climb until you can see over the bridge to the Citadel. Watch the entrance, and then report down with how many people they are sending once they come out to find us. It might be a while.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Carlos responded, nodding before turning to the soldiers behind him.

“Good call,” Johnson nodded, watching as Carlos led the others at a quick jog, entering the building quickly, sweeping the entrance, but moving fast. “Trust but verify. What's next?” 

“Now we make sure the gas station is actually suitable,” I responded. “And then we wait.” 

We moved to the gas station, quickly double-checking that none of the cars were going to explode on us. Once we were sure we were safe, we moved on to clearing the internals. There were a few rad roaches in one of the back rooms, but with the judicial application of a size twelve boot, that was solved. There were a few skeletons in the garage, but we respectfully moved those to one of the back rooms. 

At this point, bones lying around were just as common as any other debris, but having them sifting in the corner while I tried to talk to someone important would have been distracting.

Once everything was clear, I had the snipers climb up to the roof of the building, where they quickly set up a few nests and placed their weapons in them, ready to use. They then stood up from the impromptu positions to show that while we were ready for trouble, we didn’t expect it. 

While they were doing that, we rather quickly cleared a good chunk of the garage and dragged in some chairs in the form of some old boxes, and a disassembled dining table booth. I sat down on all of them to make sure they wouldn't collapse.

When everything was done, we settled in to wait, Johnson and I standing at the open entrance into the garage.