It was a good hour and a half before Carlos returned from the neighboring building. He came back at a heavy jog, having most likely just run down the several floors he had scaled to get a good view of the Citadel, so it was not surprising that he was breathing a bit heavy as he rushed to rejoin the group. The other soldiers who had joined him spread out to the other pairs around the fuel station, while he stopped to stand by us.
"There are five soldiers in power armor, then another ten in normal combat armor," he revealed when he had caught his breath. "None of them are armed with more than a laser rifle. Looks like three leaders, or something, at the heart of the group."
"That's a good number of people," I admitted with a frown. "But my gut says that it's not overwhelming enough for that to be a party looking to fight, especially with the unarmed members. What color were the robes the guys in the middle wearing?"
"Two were blue, one was red," He answered easily. "And they all looked on the older side."
"I'm pretty sure blue means elders or leaders," I said, still looking out over the area, towards where they would be appearing when they arrived. "And red is for their scribes. That's a good sign, they wouldn't be bringing them if they intended anything bad."
Carlos started to walk away, headed toward the other soldiers to patrol or stand watch, but I called him back.
"Where do you think you're going, Corporal Carlos?" I asked. "You're the third-highest rank we have, that means you get to shake hands with foreign dignitaries."
"Really, Sir?" he asked, tapping his helmet, unsure if he should be honored or annoyed. "I'm not sure…"
"You don't have to say anything," Johnson assured him, shaking his head. "Just nod, shake the hands offered to you, and if they focus on you, keep your answers short. And no fucking swearing."
Carlos seemed to steel himself, and after a moment, he nodded, standing up straight on the opposite side of me as Johnson.
"Good. Now, while you were acting as a lookout, Johnson and I were talking. This is our first contact, but we are just trying to get by while being friendly," I explained. "We can make grand political moves later, when we have a chance to stretch and grow a bit more. For now, we smile, we shake hands, and we move on, maybe a bit lighter on medical supplies."
Carlos nodded in understanding, but before he could respond, the first of the Brotherhood came around the corner. The power-armor-clad soldiers took the lead, while those in combat armor brought up the rear. Between them were the three non-combatants, two wearing blue robes and one in red, just as Carlos had said. As they approached, I stepped out from our cover under the garage. Noticeably, my rifle was back in the room, as were the weapons of my compatriots.
"Greetings," I called out, standing firm as the rather imposing wall of metal approached. "We took the liberty of setting up a place to sit. It's not much, but needs must as the devil drives."
Now that they were in range, I could tell that three of the five power armors were the same as the paladin and knights we had already met, meaning either they had traded out wearers, or Paladin Walters had returned. As they approached just a few feet away, they split to the side, giving me a good look at the non-combatants.
Again, Carlos had been correct, all three of them were on the older side. The scribe, the one in the red robes, was an older woman, maybe ten or fifteen years my senior, while the two elders seemed to be around twice my age, maybe a bit more for one of them.
"Hail, General Connors," The older elder said, stepping forward. "My name is Elder Lyons. It's good to meet you."
I froze for just a split second when I heard his name, realizing that this was not just an elder, but the elder, the leader of this chapter of the Brotherhood.
"It's good to meet you as well, Elder Lyons," I said with a nod, gesturing to my left and right. "This is Sergeant Johnson, and this is Corporal Carlos."
"Greetings to both of you," He said with a nod, before making gestures of his own. "This is Elder Victor and Scribe Summers. And that is Sentinel Sarah Lyons, commander of our heavy forces."
"It's good to meet you all," I said with a nod, before turning slightly towards the garage, my arm sweeping towards it. "Why don't we have a seat before we get too involved?"
Elder Lyons nodded, following us inside as we moved. Sarah Lyons and Paladin Walters followed behind them, while the others moved to set alongside my soldiers, reinforcing the loose perimeter. I had already warned my men to keep the conversations civil, but to keep our secrets to themselves. I hadn't been particularly worried about them blurting out any of our big secrets, but they also needed to keep from contradicting me. I was very likely going to need to lie my ass off to explain away a lot of the bullshit around the Headquarters system, so they needed to keep details to a minimum.
Once we had sat down on our improvised seats, Elder Lyons was the first to speak up.
"Paladin Walters tells me your group is from the North West," he said, his voice neutral. "I have to ask, is there anything in particular that you are looking for here?"
"Our company's overall mission is to improve stability for the regions we call home," I explained. "We have been exploring, looking for settled areas to trade with. It was decided that with the threats and the several population centers here, establishing an outpost for outreach was a good idea."
"And you do this out of the goodness of your heart?" Elder Victor, whom I did not recognize, asked, his eyebrow raised. "You claimed that you were mercenaries, those two contradict each other."
"Perhaps on the surface, but they have a lot more overlap than you might assume, especially when you consider we do plenty of free work clearing out threats in the area," I explained. "Just recently, we cleared the Springvale ruins, the burnt-out town by Megaton, of raiders."
"Hmm, then how do you call yourselves mercenaries?"
"By taking on less essential missions, like specific bounties. We also sell medicine and other supplies to the areas we are attempting to stabilize," I explained. "We make a profit, and as our medical supplies saturate the market, as they are in Megaton, medicine becomes much easier to find. It is likely increasing the life expectancy of the people living there as we speak. As for our combat services… No matter how stable a place might be, the wasteland always holds dangers. We may work to end the bigger ones, but there is still plenty of work to be done."
"A fair assessment," Elder Lyons agreed with a nod, pausing for a moment, seeming to be ready to ask another question. Before he could, I spoke up to cut him off.
"I've noticed the structure you have claimed, it is impressive," I said, looking to keep the conversation from being all about what they wanted to know. "It's defended enough to hold off an army."
"Yes, our Citadel is built to withstand various raids and wasteland dangers. We often find ourselves the target of super mutant raids, in particular," He explained, a frown on his face. "In fact, we specifically stand out against them so that they attack us, not the various settlements."
"We had never seen them before coming here," I admitted, frowning as I recalled what it took to take the few we met down. "We knew of them, but these seem different from the descriptions we have. How common are they around here?"
"This particular strain of super mutant is unfortunately becoming very common in DC. They are somehow even more barbaric than other observed types. They are brutes, cannibals, and kidnappers," The elder revealed. "We believe they are making more in the local area, which is why our chapter set up here, to help the civilians who have built homes around the DC wastes."
"An honorable goal," I said with a nod. "They are clearly a dangerous threat if they are multiplying. When we return, I will send word back home about their dangers. With any luck, they will send more support soon."
"You wish to fight them?"
"We will do what we can," I said with a shrug. "Our resources are limited for now, but eventually they won't be."
"Well, we would never say no to an ally against them, but do not overextend yourself," he warned us. "Better to handle what you can for now, so that you can help us later."
"I would be interested in seeing exactly what an organization fielding these robotic beasts is capable of," Scribe Summers pointed out. "Is the rest of your technological base that advanced? The way Paladin Walters described them has left me fascinated."
"Unfortunately, our mounts do stand out quite a bit among our available resources," I responded, the scribe's face falling slightly. "Though I will admit, there is no telling what the home base will send to help. I will likely be receiving heavier weapons and more soldiers, but beyond that..."
"A disconnect from central command is certainly something I am well familiar with," Elder Lyons admitted, a wince on his face. "Perhaps we could give Scribe Summers the chance to look at your mounts?"
"That would be fine," I confirmed with a nod, standing from my seat. "Please remember that we cannot allow her to disassemble or even touch them."
"Of course."
I led the group back outside, under the fuel station canopy, where the camels were all sitting in the shade. I prompted one of them, which we had cleared of its burdens, to stand, the tall robotic zoomorph moving with a fluid motion.
"Incredible, such grace," The scribe said, staring at the robot with wide eyes, starting to reach out towards it only to pull back, gripping their hands as if to physically stop themselves. "This level of dexterity, I've never seen anything quite like it."
The scribe pulled out a notebook and began sketching, starting with an overview of the entire robot. As they were writing and drawing, Elder Lyons stood beside me, watching his underling.
"Scribe Summer is one of our robotics experts, but I must admit I am just as surprised by these as she is," he admitted. "I have never seen anything quite like this."
"I apologize, I wish I could explain how they function," I said, shaking my head. "Unfortunately, they are far beyond my understanding."
"How do you repair them in the field, if they are so difficult to understand?" He asked, though I could tell he was clearly fishing for information. Unfortunately for him, that only worked when the person wasn't lying their ass off.
"By replacing sections with new parts, returning the old parts so they can be refurbished," I explained. "It is far from foolproof, but it works for groups like ours."
"How often must parts be replaced?" Summers asked, looking away from her sketch, which was coming together surprisingly fast. "From wear and tear?"
"Standard practice is to rotate units every two months," I explained. "Old machines get sent in, newly repaired machines get sent out. It can be logistically complicated, but it greatly cuts down on failures from wear and tear."
At this point, I was shocked at how quickly I was coming up with lies. It helped that I was filling a void, which meant I could say whatever I wanted, as long as it was still believable. I'm glad it seemed to be working, as the truth, that the machines repaired themselves like most of our gear, was even less believable than anything I could come up with.
I could tell them that little fairies came down from heaven and fixed everything with their little tiny tools, and that would be more believable. They would at least prescribe that to savages, not understanding how something actually worked.
As the scribe continued to take notes, walking around the camel and observing the moving parts, I continued to talk to Elder Lyons. His daughter was standing close by, but unlike in the game, she kept her helmet firmly on, staying silent as she let her father do the talking. Eventually, at his request, I guided the older leader towards the bags of medical supplies, letting him look through the pristine goods.
I knew I was being overly accommodating, letting them inspect and look at whatever they wanted, way past what I normally would. Unfortunately, I had very little choice in the matter. I was hoping that being more open now would sate their curiosity before they went looking for our home, at least for a while.
Eventually, I would have to deal with it, but for now, I needed to keep them away.
When we finally stepped away from the camels, heading back to the garage, Elder Lyons brought up the supplies. He had gotten a good look at just how much we were shipping, and he was clearly interested.
"I must be honest, I have never seen such pristine medicine," He admitted. "Not even locked away in vaults. You told Paladin Walters you would be amenable to selling some of your cargo?"
"I would be," I said with a nod. "I want some of it to go to Rivet City, but I don't mind selling you a portion."
"Good, our medical branch would very much like to get their hands on this," he said.
"If you're looking to stock a proper clinic, we can also get a shipment of medical equipment," I said. "Proper gloves, scalpels, medical gowns, masks, the whole stretch, all sterile and unused."
"That would also be extremely welcome," he said, his eyes going a bit wide at the offer. "Would you be amenable to us making a proper order? We could put together a list while you are at Rivet City, then on your way back, we could bargain for the price."
"That sounds like a fantastic idea," I said with a nod and a smile.
"Good. Then let's discuss how much of your current medical supplies I can convince you to sell," the elder said, smiling. "Now I understand that medicine would be important for Rivet City, but surely their demand for stimpaks would be less extreme?"
We sat back down at our impromptu space in the garage bay, discussing prices and amounts. Unsurprisingly, the older leader was a proficient negotiator. Seeing that the process would likely take some time, I mentally settled in to make sure we would get the best deal possible.