Tiberius67

War Never Changes

Ruins of Worland, Wyoming

Under the clear and starry sky, on a small hill well away from the camp, the trio sat alone. One was a man, in the regalia of a Mem-Bar warrior of the Laramie 80s, the other two were women. One, her head resting in the lap of the man, as he caressed her long blonde hair affectionately, wore the leathers common to the 'civilians'...wives, camp followers, and sometimes slaves...who accompanied them wherever they roamed. The third, however, was dressed in a t-shirt and Motorcross style trousers, the jacket spread out on the ground beneath her....not something an 80 would be likely to wear. Nor would the necklace around the neck of the young black woman which bore the rank insignia of a Senior Scribe in the Brotherhood.

"Where did you get a name like 'Whispers-to-robots'?", Sister Tanya asked, "What does that mean?"

"Tell her, Steve!", Ellie, his Ol' Lady, demanded, using his birth name, which was her right as his wife to do, a fact she made a point of driving home to the young woman with them at every opportunity since Tanya had joined the caravan at the Khan's Golden City. She knew her Ol' Man well enough to know she had better put her cards on the table lest he stray...as if the two Mama's he already had in their household weren't enough for him. Like them, Tanya wished to travel to the Followers investigating the secrets of the Buffalo Bill Dam, as the Brotherhood had paid in gasoline to see her delivered safely, it would be done...though it did help that she was pleasant company, full of stories of her travels to far-away places like Oklahoma, and even Nawlins, and was versed in their ways so she was little trouble to the Road-Captain. Ellie liked her, but not enough to share her man with her. "I love that story!"

"Alright", Steve replied, pretending...badly...that he didn't want to tell the story of one of the most important days of his life, for the hundredth time, "It was back in '84. I was still a Prospect then, and had yet to win my war-bike...."

He then launched into the story, how in the Fall of '84 the Chapter's Engine Whisperer had led him and four other Prospects into the Brotherhood lands to disable one of the Brotherhood's giant agri-bots, a rich source of parts and scrap metal. While somewhat hazardous, it was not excessively so...as long as they didn't seriously harm the farmers or other travelers they encountered, or bother the strange hairy Deathclaws Barnaky let roam Western Nebraska because their ancestors had served him against the Mutants and the Great Robot, the most likely penalty if caught was a fine of gasoline, or jail, or one of them having to join Barnaky's Army for a time.

The robots themselves were not a danger unless one was careless, getting in and back out again with the prize of precious metal was where the glory in it was. As many of the Patrol were 80s that had, after an active life, hung up their signs and settled down, taken wives from Barnaky's people, and traded their war-bikes in for Shriekers, they understood their opponents and were a worthy foe. Harvest time was dreaded by Barnaky's Highway Patrol, as the harvest brought 80s looking for glory and metal...and the resultant mandatory overtime. The Great Wheel had turned, and now they were viewing their own youthful exploits from the other side. The favored way of disabling a agri-bot was to dig a trench in a row then conceal it and wait for it to travel down the row and be trapped when one giant wheel fell in the trench and couldn't get out. then the raiding party would swarm aboard and the race would begin...to remove what they could and load it into a truck and retreat before the Patrol arrived. A successful raid would net great amounts of scrap and parts they could use, more than worth the risk.

He had been given the task of counting the rows, locating the targeted robot and determining it's path so they could dig the trench on the right place for it to fall into. Failure to point out the correct row for the trench would merit him a sound thrashing from the rest of the party, who would justifiably be irate at having to dig a new trench and try again. The robot of course, just ran the automated path it was programmed with and only stopped if it detected a man-sized object in it's path and honked at it. That was best avoided as it might attract the local farmer, which meant they would have to abort the attempt if he/she saw them. That, again, would earn the offender a beating. Once the path was determined, and the trench dug, they waited for the machine to fall into the trap then the fun began.

This time, it didn't work that way.

As he approached the agri-bot, from the left, which should have been safe, the great machine suddenly stopped, and one of the cameras swiveled to look at him. And then a voice bellowed from it's loudspeaker. Not a robotic voice, but a man's voice, the voice of a warrior...

"What did it say?", Ellie asked, already knowing. This was her favorite part.

"Well, what do we have here?", the voice said, "You're here to steal parts from me, aren't you?" it then bellowed, "You just fucked with the wrong robot, you little shit!"

"Then it started moving again, it turned and began to chase me", Steve said. "Shouting things that would make a brahmin driver blush all the while, then it started playing this music...", he then hummed a tune that Tayna recognized from old pre-war comedy vids, then continued. "I ran like a rad-rabbit, damn robot chased me all across the field for ten minutes before I managed to lead it over the trench and got it stuck. It fell in, tried to get out, and then one of the cameras swivels back to me and it starts talking again.

"You got me, you little bastard", it said, "Well played." It actually sounded amused. "Then it said we had two hours before it called the Patrol on us."

"What did you do then?", Tanya asked.

"We cut the robot up and got out clean with two full truckloads of scrap", Steve said, "Best haul in years. The Engine-Whisperer gave me a strong engine to complete my war-bike in exchange for my share....and the Oil-Shamans gave me my War-name once he told them what had happened. They say Barnaky himself talked to me, but I'm not sure that they are right."

"It's possible", Tanya replied, "He has the ability to take control of the machines that once served the Calculator...or as you know it, the 'Great Robot'. Why he would do that in this case, I honestly do not know."

"My first trophy was one of the cameras from that robot," Steve said, "If you and the Oil-Shamans were right, then it was a good Omen. Won my sign a year later, out Nevada way....and found my Ol' Lady, here."

"Eloping with you was the best decision I ever made", Ellie said sleepily, "If I hadn't, I'd be stuck back in Nevada farming dust and paying House's taxes like Ma and Pa probably still are, with nothing to show for it. Barnaky has too many rules, but at least he provides for those who ride behind him...House doesn't do shit for anyone."

In the distance, far above, the drone of engines could be heard. Tanya bade the others to be quiet, and pulled a pair of binoculars out of the bag sitting by her and scanned the sky. eventually she saw them, three small shapes moving in a Northwesterly direction, well to their south. No running lights. Just like the ones she had seen several hours ago, going the other way.

"Might be ours", Tanya thought, "But why East to West for a return journey? I had better report this."

She pulled out a compass and a notebook, then consulted her wristwatch and wrote the time and a rough heading down. She then watched the flying objects for a while longer then lowered the binoculars and put her things back in the bag, and then stood and stooped to pick up her jacket.

"We're done here", Tanya said, "Time to go back to camp and hit the sack, we have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow."

SAC HQ Bunker, Operations.

The reports had been flowing in for hours, from listening posts, Missionaries in the field, and troops in the Michigan, Indiana, and Kentucky front. Unknown aircraft had flown across Wyoming and Minnesota, over the Lakes then crossed into Republic Airspace and from there south into Kentucky....then back again. Some radio traffic was picked up, but it was encrypted and not nearly enough was intercepted to decipher it. Who...or why...was unknown for certain, though analysts agreed the likely origin of the aircraft was the Western Order. A high altitude drone recon flight was ordered for Eastern Kentucky, the presumed AO of the mysterious aircraft, to see if the target could be identified....

Duluth Docks - Administration Building - Inquisition Offices

Anita pulled the typewritten letter, on Inquisition letterhead, that she had just finished typing out of her typewriter and examined her handiwork. Satisfied the letter was in proper form, she opened the manila folder on her desk, and shuffled it and another letter into the slim stack and placed it back in the folder, then closed it and turned her attention to compiling a digest of the results of last round of interviews of the brothel workers at the Full Moon, the brothel that serviced the dock area, as she waited for her opportunity. After around fifteen minutes, the phone at her desk rang, the inside line for Inquisitor Morton blinking. She picked up the handset and pushed the blinking button.

"Yes, Inquisitor?", Anita asked in the cheerful, professional tone she always used with him...and hid her true feelings quite well, "How may I serve you?"

"Coffee, please", Morton replied, "Milk and sugar".

"Right away, sir", Anita chirped, hanging up after the Inquisitor did.

"Showtime", she thought as she stood up and put her purse on the desk, fishing around until she found her makeup kit, then placed it on her desk and headed over to the coffee maker, where a fresh pot, from coffee smuggled upriver from the Keys was brewing. She grabbed a cup and saucer, then prepared a cup as requested, and took it back to the desk. Pulling a small brown vial and a Q-tip from the makeup kit, she carefully opened the vial, careful not to touch the contents. The trace scent emanating from the vial alone made her flush and she could feel the dampness that signaled arousal beginning to form. While welcome, given what she was about to do, she knew she had to be careful lest she lose control of herself. She barely moistened the end of the q-tip, then put the lid back on. She then ran the q-tip along the inside of the rim of the cup, then wadded up the q-tip inside a used coffee filter and threw it in the garbage. She then pulled out her compact, checking her makeup and applying more lipstick, admiring her swarthy and slightly exotic good looks, then packed up the kit and put it away. Straightening up her dark blue Brotherhood police uniform, bearing no insignia except for an armband with the word "TRUSTY" on it, she then carefully picked up the coffee cup and saucer, and put the folder under her arm and walked down the hall, past the empty offices where the other three Inquisitors..long since sent East..had once been, to the one occupied office. She quietly knocked, entering at the bidding of a gruff voice inside.

In the office, hard at work behind his desk, was Inquisitor Morton, a not unappealing red-headed man in his mid-twenties. Duluth, and the Iron camps, was his first big assignment. Normally, he would be junior Inquisitor, under the guidance of more experienced hands, but the Order had it's hands full in Michigan and Indiana, the experienced hands were needed at the Front or behind the lines waging the endless counter-insurgency war against Cult spies and stay-behind saboteurs....so by default, he became Head Agent, presiding over a office of one, completely overworked and having to rely on the Security Chiefs of the labor camps and even trusted prisoners, such as Anita, to cope with the workload associated with maintaining Barnaky's Regime.

"Thanks, Anita", Morton said gratefully as he accepted the cup and saucer. "Got papers for me?"

"Just routine, Inquisitor", she said, mugging in a way to non-verbally signal that she wanted him to drink what she had prepared for him, "It can wait."

Morton, picking up the cues subconsciously, obliged and took a drink. He paused for a moment, as the coffee tasted just a bit odd....though the puppy dog eyes she threw at him when she noticed the pause coaxed him into drinking more, just to please her....as he suddenly realized how luscious her lips looked.

Anita watched and waited, it wasn't long before the pupils of his eyes showed the pheromones were working. A tiny dose, but then she just wanted to make him more biddable to suggestion, not compel him to bend her over the desk and ravish her until he was completely spent and then dry-hump her until he was exhausted. She then walked around the desk and shot him a lewd look that had worked on many a man in her line of work. She smiled as he immediately became erect in response. Totally distracted, he didn't even notice as she placed the folder on the desk, just that she had kneeled down next to him.

"That cock looks rock-hard, Bob", she said seductively in his ear, "would you like me to suck it for you?"

"I.I.I can't!", Bob stammered, "They'd shoot me if they found out!"

"No they won't, Bob", Anita replied, "We've been through this before. I promise I'll swallow it all and then there will be no evidence...it will be our secret." She then lazily ran a finger and traced a line up his clothed, and fully erect member. "I just need you to do something for me...."

"Do what?", Morton asked impatiently, "I want you now!"

"Just sign these papers for me", she said as she flipped open the folder, "I need these signed so they can go out in today's packet."

"Oh, right", Morton said. glancing at the top paper, it was the weekly discipline report for Camp 11. he signed it and flipped to the next page, to find his report on suspected sabotage of a mining rig at the Keewatin Pit, the investigation had determined it was a hydraulic failure caused by a defective hose. He signed it, but became distracted again as Anita began fiddling with his belt.

"C'mon Bob", Anita said huskily as she succeeded in unfastening his belt, "hurry up so I can suck it!"

At that point, Morton's resistance finally crumbled and he hastily signed...without reading...each succeeding document in turn, in the spot where Anita helpfully indicated with a carefully manicured nail, casting down the pen when he had signed the last one.

"Good boy", said Anita with satisfaction as she stacked the papers and put them back in the folder and closed it. "Get ready....."

Bob struggled to pull down his pants to his ankles and leaned back, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head as Anita moved in and expertly pleasured him. After a time, he groaned in pleasure has he climaxed into her skilled mouth. After finishing up, she looked up at him, and opened her mouth to show that it was empty, then leaned up and made him kiss her. She then stood up, and picked up the folder.

"Thank you, Bob", she said, then turned and went to the door, as he recovered. She then looked back and said, "Inquisitor, I need a car to pick up correspondence from the camps and Brainerd....It will take most of the day. could you call ahead to the motor pool and get one released for me?"

"I'll take care of it", Morton said, picking up the phone and mashing the button for a outside line, "Just make sure you're back before curfew...and be careful. the Brainerd area isn't secure yet."

"I'll go there first", Anita replied, "Raiders won't be out in the morning." Morton grunted in reply, then waved her off then began pulling his pants back up as she closed the door.

Back at her desk, she prepared the morning correspondence to go out, then examined the last letters...the ones she hadn't wanted Morton to read...and smiled predatorily at the signature on them. Susan had told her to just forge the documents....but why take the risk when she had a Inquisitor wrapped around her finger? Now all she had to do is head to Mimi's, report and pick up a helper, then complete the mission.

As for Inquisitor Morton, his time would come soon enough.

War Never Changes

Brotherhood I Corps HQ - Indianapolis International Airport- Concourse A

Inquisitor Stahl, seated at her desk, took a sip of coffee and tried to tune out the noise being made by the repair crews, still hard at work making this place habitable, as she persued the latest report from the team at the Pentagon ruins. Regarding Lancer-Seargent Kyle, the info was a mixed bag. References to him were found in the mainframe, mostly regarding the Vertibird Wing he was assigned to, which ultimately accompanied Maxon to his doom in Boston. They had even found a picture of him in a group picture of his unit, published in the Chapter's electronic newsletter, that was a spitting image of the man currently being debriefed by the Paladin-General's staff. It had been unfortunate that the drive modules that made up the Eastern Order's Codex had been carefully disconnected and physically removed from the mainframe, presumably at the time the Citadel was abandoned to the Cult, but while useful it would merely have been confirming the obvious. She had been directed by Omaha to pass what they had on Kyle, as well as the Cult missionary captured in Markle, to the Frumentarii's commander, Vulpes Inculta, when he and his staff flew in from Omaha. An outside perspective, it was hoped, would shed some light on the strange events surrounding the pair.

The information coming back on other avenues was quite interesting though, especially the records of the Eastern Order's unsuccessful attempt to block the Cult's advance into the Capital Wasteland. Initially they had fought them to a stalemate, which the Cult subsequently broke with some kind of device that crippled the Eastern Order's effectiveness to the point that they fled the field altogether. Only the use of multiple tactical nuclear weapons by the Children of Atom had stopped the Cult from overrunning the entire area, and bought time for the remaining armed factions to set aside their differences and drive the Cult out with a desperate counter-attack. A Expedition had been dispatched to the facility it was believed the Cult found the device. According to Pre-War archives, Dunwich Borers was a manufacturer of deep tunneling and drilling equipment. The Calculator's archive of Top Secret government files, not to mention those of SAC, had little information about the firm, other than it being on the list of approved suppliers for equipment for constructing underground facilities. Speculation was that Dunwich Borers may have been another front for DARPA, but that was just speculation. Hopefully the Expedition would turn something up...otherwise attention would turn to the Vault 114 Operation, the Engineer-General's personal pet project, which had been delayed for the time being.

Stahl put down the report and swiveled her chair to look over the wall of sandbags and out the window....a perk of her rank...and looked at the tent city around the terminal building, then out towards downtown Indianapolis, ten miles away, smoke from dozens of burning buildings curling up into the clear blue sky. Michigan was a mess, but everything was largely on schedule here. The Raiders and their ghoul allies, now under constant artillery fire and probing attacks, were becoming even more frantic in their attempts to break out of the siege. The latest attempt to escape, led by a mass feral ghoul attack on the Castleton position, had been brutally cut to pieces by alert troops who had been expecting them. They were now firmly trapped between the I-465 Bypass and I-65, and every day the lines pushed them inward. Even though they were unaware the forward elements of Aurelius's command were less than a days march away, the defenders were getting increasingly desperate. It had been hoped that the Cult outpost in Ft Wayne would come to their aid, but so far they were staying put, fortifying the area around the one bridge South they had been left. It appeared that the defenders of Indianapolis had been abandoned to their fate....which was rapidly marching towards them along I-74. It occurred to her that she had never seen a crucifixion before...under the Order's Law only the corpses of criminals were displayed in such a manner.....and shortly she would likely see many. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

War Never Changes

Palace of Caesar

Barnaky listened intently as Gladstone, obviously choosing his words carefully, outlined his Order's aerial capabilities. Calling up historical records on the Skyraider and B-17, he noted neither was nuclear capable...at least as designed. He then went to mention they were planning to have jet aircraft in service sometime next year. Barnaky recalled that his Order's fledgling aviation community had been agitating for increased production of the Hellion interceptor, or at least refurbishing pre-war interceptors as a stopgap, in case the Texans and the NCR, or some other hostile power, sought to initiate a strategic bombing campaign against them. He had been resisting it so far...the Inquisition had turned up no sign the Texans were even contemplating such a thing, and the synthetic oil factories could only produce so much aviation fuel, after all, not to mention much of their current production was supporting air transport assets that were vitally needed at the Front...but clearly this decision would need to be reviewed.

"I'm afraid our offensive aviation capability is limited at this time", Barnaky replied, "While we have sixteen Vertibirds, and a production line established, most of our efforts have been focused on transport aircraft for logistics."

Barnaky would have gone on, but Gladstone had noticed his attention to the newest arrival, House's representative, known as the King. He had entered, and with a nod at his peers, taken a seat at the table. Barnaky nodded in return. Gladstone looked over at the King.

“Mr, King", Gladstone intoned, "I would be pleased if our nations could come to an arrangement concerning an irritant to the both of our lands...."

Barnaky, noticing more movement at the door to the room, noticed a group of men entered. Most of them were both Texas and NCR Rangers in tier distinctive uniforms, they immediately fanned out and took up stations around the room, calmly being eyed by the Praetorians already present. At the center, were President Harris and a Brigadier General in the NCR Army, who approached the table as the High Elder, seemingly unaware of what was going on behind him, continued to address the King.

"...It is my belief," Gladstone said, "that an entente between the Western Brotherhood, Vegas and the Legion should be formed to both contain the NCR and deter it from any future acts of aggression. Would you be open to such an arrangement? And of course, the reopening of trade between our lands would also be on the table as well.”

"Welcome to Santa Fe, President Harris, General", said Barnaky, nodding at each in turn while wincing inwardly as most likely he was committing a faux pas under Legion etiquette by greeting them before their host, Lucius, spoke....but he felt it necessary to act before Gladstone really put his foot in his mouth. He didn't know for sure what Lucius planned to do, but he was pretty sure he would not have invited Harris and the NCR here if he was planning on kicking the NCR when it was down.

"I’m sorry for our interruption, Harris said with a ghoulish smile, "We are here to represent the Free Confederation of Texan States, as well as the New California Republic.” They took their seats at the wooden table, with Harris sitting closest to the other powers. After a momentary pause, he continued. “I come here hoping for peaceful negotiations and the normalization of relations and trade between our countries. There are several worrying matters to address as well, such as the state of the Most Serene Key Republic, the final negotiations with the New California Republic, and the smooth expansion of Texas into Oklahoma.” He shuffled his hands for a half second, smoothing papers he had set in front of him in a nervous slip. “I also wish to hear of conflict with the Cult in the north.”

"All things I'm dying to discuss", Barnaky thought to himself as he glanced at Lucius, seated at the head of the table, "but this isn't my show..."

War Never Changes

The Dunwich Building - near the Centreville ruins

The building sat as it always had, silent as the grave under an uncaring sky. On the old parking lot surrounding the ancient, crumbling edifice, a camp had been pitched. The tents and awnings would have been little comfort to anyone sheltering them, as the ancient asphalt still exposed baked under the noonday sun, making it somewhat uncomfortable even under the awnings....but no complaints, or anything else could be heard, only the sound of a hot eastern breeze whistling past the ropes of the pitched tents. Beside that, and the occasional pop or ping from the steel of the rusting cars scattered around the lot expanding under the scorching heat, not a sound could be heard...not the squeals of a mole rat, or cries of a crow, or even the chirp of a rad-roach. suddenly, however, the silence was broken as four Vertibirds, bearing the insignia of the Midwestern Brotherhood, popped up over the hills just to the south of the old building. The Vertibirds quickly approached, and from them, tense and vigilant eyes scrutinized the building and the area around it for threats. Drone and Eyebot surveillance had spotted no movement in the camp, but the battle-hardened men were taking no chances. The Vertibirds slowed, then stopped, hovering over clear spots in and around the parking lot just long enough for the armored Knights waiting at the open doors to step out and fall fifty feet to the ground below, the ground shaking as they landed in quick succession. Their troops deployed, the Vertibirds accelerated away, taking up station orbiting the area from several hundred yards out, ready to pounce if the enemy was spotted.

Forming up with practiced efficiency, the Knights, weapons at the ready, swept through the camp, looking for it's occupants. But not a soul was there, and from the layer of dust from the never-ending dust storms the Capital Wasteland was plagued with that covered everything, no-one had been there for some time...months, or perhaps even a year or more. A cursory search turned up weapons, ammunition, equipment...even papers...seemingly just left behind by the Enemy, along with their fortified camp, but no sign of the Cultists occupying this place. In one tent, they found a short-wave transceiver that had been left on, it's fission battery eventually discharging completely. Oddly enough, they also found the dried and moldy remains of meals being prepared in pots over long dead campfires, and even plates and mess kits with partially eaten meals in them. It was as if the occupants had just suddenly walked away and abandoned the camp and whatever mission they had been assigned....or had vanished into thin air.

"I don't know what creeps me out more", Knight-Lieutenant Stone said to the armored figure at her side, unlike the rest wearing a battered old suit of Enclave Mk II Armor, repainted with the livery of the Talon Company, "That the freaks just up and vanished, or that scavvers didn't pick this place clean afterward."

"Doesn't suprise me a bit", Captain Geisler replied, "No Wastelander in their right mind comes out here since the Cult War....too close to the Deadlands. What few people that did live down this way got dragged off to god knows where....except for the crazy Nuka-Cola lady that used to live up in Girdershade, she hid in the old overpass North of here. She says they made camp around this building for about a week then suddenly pulled up stakes and split up, once force marching North and the other East. Brotherhood tangled with them near Warrington Station...from all the downed Vertibirds out there they lost badly. Rest of them up and left after that. The other group came for us....we tried to make a stand at Evergreen Mills with what Raiders were lucid enough to talk to, but there were just too many....they pushed us back and pinned us down at Ft Bannister while the rest of them headed for the DC Ruins. We thought we were totally fucked...until the Children dropped a nuke on them out of the blue and we were able to get a handle on what was left, anyhow."

"But yeah", he added, "this place gives me the fucking creeps. Our patrols don't run this far south so I have no idea when these people moved in or when they left."

One by one, the squad leaders checked in...no contacts. Stone looked at the building in the center of the parking lot, and shivered a bit in her suit. The ancient structure glowered down at them. While no movement was spotted in the blank, grimy windows, but she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched by something truly malevolent.

"Command", Stone said into her radio, "Bravo Actual. LZ secure, we are ready to receive the reclamation team."

"Acknowledged, Bravo Actual", came the reply, "Reclamation team en route, ETA 15 minutes. Be advised, weather radar shows a Force 2 rad storm headed your way from the SE, ETA 3 hours. Evac will not be available until it passes, window predicted to be 2-4 hours."

"Very well", Stone said, "We'll make do. Bravo Actual out."

Administration Building, Labor Camp 12 - Hibbing, Minnesota

Battalion Leader Walton's withered hand shook a little as he read the message it held, a message that had just come in from Omaha on the radio-teletype. His first thought upon reading it was that they were on to him...but his mind rejected that as illogical. If they knew, they wouldn't have sent this message...they would have sent a Inquisitor Team backed up by a Company of Knights. He put down the message, and poured himself a stiff drink, then pulled out a key on a chain from under his uniform jacket and opened the safe behind him and took out two books and a map. consulting all three and scribbling down hasty calculations. After the first round was done, he snarled in frustration at the results and did them again....only to be confronted with the same bleak figure."

"A week", he thought bitterly, "A week, at most, before this will be impossible."

He stared at the tumbler of bourbon for what seemed like an eternity, then he finally picked it up and drained it in one gulp, and slammed it back onto the table, then stood up and straightened his jacket, then slipped the message into a pocket.

"So be it", Walton said aloud in his gravely ghoul voice, "We'll go now then."

Leaving his office, he headed for, and exited the main gate, heading for the small cluster of buildings near the train station. Passing a General Store, and a couple of bars, he came to his goal, a building with a pair of guards...pimply faced Wastelanders too green to be sent to the Front...sitting listlessly by the door, their rifles propped up against the wall next to them as they played cards. Above the door was a sign saying "Mimi's" with a woman's leering face on it. the artistry was just good enough to capture a passably lewd expression. Spotting his approach, they sullenly got to their feet and made an attempt to present arms. Once, he would have torn them a new asshole, but he didn't care anymore.

"As you were", Walton growled as he opened the door and stalked in, slamming it shut behind him. Standing at the end of the short foyer, was the greeter, a decent looking brunette in a black girdle and fishnet stockings. The shock bracelet on her left ankle marked her as a prisoner. A brothel staffed by prisoners....one of the many hypocrisies of Barnaky's Regime. Inside the camp a guard..all ghouls now as the War consumed more and more lives...would be shot for having sex with a prisoner. Custodial Rape, the Lex Barnaky called it. But if she agreed to be contracted out to a brothel, the same woman could pull ten hour shifts servicing locals and the free workers out here for the benefit of herself, her employer, and the State. How that was supposed to 'Re-educate' anyone was a complete mystery to him.

"Evening, Boss", she said with a smirk, "I'm sorry...but I'm required at this time to inform you that under Section 512 of the Lex Barnaky, sexual intercourse with ghouls is an offense punishable by no less than thirty da..."

"If you prefer peddling your ass here to hauling taconite, you'll kindly shut the fuck up", Walton snapped, cutting her off mid-sentence, "where is she?"

"Up-upstairs, Battalion Leader", the prisoner replied fearfully. While hardly a death sentence, mining taconite was dirty and unpleasant work and she knew Walton could easily arrange for the privilege of working here to be revoked and she'd be back in the Pit. "She's either cleaning Room 12 or 14."

"Much better", Walton replied with a leer as he walked past her and headed for the stairs. As he walked down the hallway, past rooms where giggling, moans of pleasure, or just the creaking of bed-springs indicated they were in use. He saw the door to Room 12 was open and could hear movement inside. Looking inside, he saw a woman in a orange jumpsuit with a red triangle on the back bend over and pick up a used condom off the floor with a gloved hand and with a flick of her wrist fling it into a bag attached to her mop bucket. He'd never asked her if she "worked" here or not...he didn't really care. As girls from all three of the Iron Range Camps worked here, it was the perfect way for her to spread her web throughout the Camp system right under the nose of the security chiefs and the Inquisition so he pulled strings and made it happen. She then looked up and noticed him, her expression changing to mild surprise as she straightened back up. Walton silently held up his hand and gestured for him to follow and retreated from the door. She exited, and he followed her to the linen closet, which she entered and he followed her inside and quietly closed the door behind him.

"You shouldn't be here", the woman said in as low a voice as she could manage. "They always ask if any of the girls are servicing ghouls on the side...perverts."

"Doesn't matter anymore", Walton replied quietly as he pulled out the note and thrust it at her. "read it and weep."

She unfolded the paper and scanned it, then looked up at him.

"Pretend I'm slow...", she hissed, "...and explain what this means to me."

"Omaha is sending an Infantry Brigade up here", Walton explained, "Given the clusterfuck in Michigan...I can't imagine why, but they are. My orders are to supply laborers to build a camp for them by the docks. They'll be here in a week...ten days tops. And if we're still here when they arrive, we're well and truly fucked."

"I take it you have a plan?", she asked bitterly.

"We stick to the original plan, just move it up", Walton said, "Next scheduled ore freighter arrives in Duluth in three days....it's then or never." He plucked the message from her fingers and put it back into his pocket, and added as he opened the door. "Expect reassignment to the detail that will be sent to Duluth tomorrow..spread the word and notify our mutual friend that we're coming early or not at all. If we make it through the Passage, we'll be there in two days from when we leave so he has five to prepare."

War Never Changes

Simon Barnaky - Palace of Caesar

“Very well then. I shall have to make do with the current state of affairs as regards the Khans. They will have their autonomy if that is your preference your excellencies.”, Gladstone said, assuming a kindly demeanor that didn't quite jibe with the cold and calculating look in the man's eyes....a look he had seen before.

It reminded him of the expression on the face of the High Elder's long dead predecessor, when he had sent Latham, Dekker, and him East along with their supporters back in '90. He had put on a good show, as Gladstone was doing now...but they had all known they were really being exiled. It only confirmed the obvious when they never received replies to the reports they, and when time and the struggle to survive claimed his comrades, eventually he alone, sent West faithfully. And when, sixty long years later, Owyn Lyons made his own journey to Washington, he had refused any contact with them....it was only after Lyons himself became unable to ignore the misery around him any longer and cut his own ties with the West did he reach out to him, but by then it was too late for them to do much for each other except provide moral support. And of course, once Maxon had seized power contact ceased entirely again.

While it was certainly possible that his statements here and now had caused Gladstone to cool towards him...he no doubt had expected him to endorse his plan without demur...it also occurred to Barnaky that the man may well never have been acting in good faith to begin with. Whatever was happening, he needed to be on his guard with the Western Elders...that much was crystal clear now. Back in Omaha, Barnaky began issuing orders for the first moves of the new game he had found himself in.

“This war is of your making, it is your choice how to fight it", Gladstone concluded, "I shall send word for the offending articles to be held back in storage...”, he paused for a moment, then continued"..."though perhaps I could call for a list of the other non-Chemical weapons to be forwarded to both of you. I would recommend the deployment of some of these articles, if only for the tactical ability they will afford us. We have multiple MIRV capable Fat Man’s for instance, able to wipe out thousands in the blink of an eye. Along with Gauss minigun emplacements, and thermobaric cluster weaponry deployable by bomber or missile batteries if modified correctly.”

"Ordnance such as you describe is not prohibited, and with proper deployment should be quite effective against the massed feral attacks the Cult likes to use", Barnaky replied diplomatically, "I'd love to hear more about your capabilities in these fields, especially in tactical air support....."


Capital Wasteland - The Citadel - F Wing

The old mainframe room was sweltering hot....the air conditioning unit had been stripped by scavengers before the Children had moved in...a state of affairs that wasn't helped now that the mainframe, after two days spent getting power restored to the underground F and G Wings of the ancient and crumbling structure, was finally active. All Scribe Carruthers could do is pray to whatever Gods may be listening that he would find the items on the list Dr Strasse had given him quickly. Scooting his office chair to face each of the four terminals before him, he launched different searches on each. This would go a lot quicker if Jensen were here....but the Children had her setting up flood lights to illuminate their "relic"....a Mk 28 nuclear bomb, salvaged from Liberty Prime's wreckage, that had been left behind first by Maxon when he had embarked on his doomed Expedition to the Commonwealth, and again by what was left of the Eastern Brotherhood when they abandoned the Capital Wasteland. Overlooked during the brief occupation by the Cult, it was found by the Children who had driven them out, who naturally took it as a sign of Atom's favor and a group of them settled in what was now deemed a Holy site.

Noticing data scrolling up the screen in the third terminal, Carruthers scooted over to it. The search he had been doing was for a name, and it had come up with results. Carruthers opened the first one. It was the crew manifest for the Prwydyn dated November 20, 2287, notes indicating it was at the time of the Airship commencing it's final voyage. Under Vertibird Wing 02, he found the following entry:

>Vertibird 2-4
> Pilot: LSGT KYLE, ROBERT J KT-351LS
Co-Pilot: LSGT HARRISON, CYNTHIA M KT-956MT
LWO: SLCR STILES, PAUL R KV-451GA
WO: LCR JOHNSON, BRYAN N KV-570GD

Also present were the index numbers for their individual entries in the Chapter's Codex. Carruthers scribbled them all down and saved the document to his Pip-Boy. He had no idea why Lancer-Sergeant Kyle was important, but orders were orders and the Brethren he served with may be of use as well. As he wrote, suddenly something warm and yielding pressed against his back, and a chin rested on his right shoulder.

"Whatcha writing, Dave?", Alexandra, his 'minder' from the Children living here, purred into his ear.

"Not again", Carruthers thought to himself. Part of the complicated agreement they, with the help of the Talon Company mercs who had escorted them here, had worked out with Confessor Polonium, the leader of the Children of Atom who resided here, had been that they would agree to be watched by one of the Children at all times when they were working, and had to get approval to remove any object from the building. As the Talon mercs had made it perfectly, and rather saltily, clear at the briefing at Adams that they would not raise their hand to the Children for any amount of caps except in self-defense, they had no choice but to agree to their terms. His first minder, Jack, was all of twelve and quickly got bored with his assigned task and began skylarking about and asking incessant questions about everything he did. After a day, he was abruptly replaced by Alexandra, who was even more distracting....for a entirely different reason. It wasn't that she was unfriendly or anything like that....the problem was that she was entirely too friendly.

"Nothing important, Alex", he replied, trying not to react as she pressed up against him a little more, "Just some old personnel records."

"The Prwydyn, eh", she said as she leaned over him and looked at the screen, "That was their airship. It was neat....too bad they Maxoned all the stuff they built that thing from."

It was sad, Carruthers thought, that the memory of the last Maxon would come to this....as an word to describe theft, or a thief. Even the Talon Company mercs called Raiders 'Maxons'.

"Everybody loved the Brotherhood when Old Man Lyons was alive", Alexandra went on, "Even though he was an unbeliever he was a righteous man, but when Atom called him home he was replaced by that asshole Maxon. He just took what he wanted from people...they came to Megaton for the Great Relic at the center of town, they claimed it was because it was dangerous, and threatened to kill anyone who got in their way. The Grand Zealot wanted to fight, we weren't even alone because the unbelievers in town were tired of the Brotherhood Maxoning from them all the time and stuck up for us. The Prophet..the real one, not that Heathen in the Pitt...said no, that it was a sign that Atom wanted us to leave the Capital Wasteland. That was the start of the Great Pilgrimage. After we left, they Maxoned everything that wasn't nailed down to build their airship. They even Maxoned Rivet City's reactor! I tell you, no-one missed Maxon once he finally left to plague Boston.

As talking about the past seemed to distract her from rubbing up against him, Carruthers decided to see how long he could keep her talking.

"What happened next?", he asked.

"Oh, that's the best part!", Alexandra exclaimed excitedly, "We...well, my parents, as I wasn't born yet...went on the Great Pilgrimage of Atom, the faithful spread out all the way to His Holy Island, in the far North. There, we found more, and bigger, relics of Atom, including a ship that can go underwater!"

"A submarine", Carruthers said, as a icy shiver ran down his back, "Dear God."

"You're so smart!", Alexandra said, giving him a quick hug, "Anyway, not long after the Grand Inquisitor Tektus found the nucleus on His Holy Island, the Prophet began to have dreams. It took him a while to understand what Atom wanted from us, but he came to realize that Atom, in His mercy, had not turned his back on the Capital Wasteland...he wanted us to save it!"

"So", she continued, "The Prophet revealed to us Atom's Plan, and work began to make the Vessel ready for the sea, and to get more ships, and gather as many of the Faithful as we could find, and prepare ourselves for the sign!"

"What sign was that?"

"Word reached us that a great host of heathens had invaded the Capital Wasteland, she replied, "and were sweeping all before them in the name of their False God. And that the Brotherhood had fled, and only Talon Company stood against them, but they couldn't hold out much longer. It was then that the Prophet said this was the sign they had been waiting for, that it was Atom's Will that the heathen be driven out of the Capital Wasteland forever, and proclaimed the Great Crusade!".

"Tektus, at the head of the Two Thousand, landed in Alexandria", she continued, "and headed North. Learning that Talon Company were still holding the Mall, and the area around Rivet City and the Purfier, but that most of them were pinned down at Fort Bannister, Tektus realized if he smote the heathens besieging Ft Bannister, that Commander Jabsco would, with or without us, move on the city to relieve the siege of the Mall..to save his men...thus serve Atom's Will whether he realized it or not. So Tektus used one of the small relics from the Vessel to release His Holy Light to scour the heathens, and Ft Bannister was saved. Atom's Light also softened Jabsco's heart, and he agreed to join the Crusade, opened their Armory to the Faithful, and as one Talon Company and the Two Thousand marched on the City.

"By small relic", Carruthers said, nearly speechless by what the girl had said, "do you mean Tektus used a nuclear weapon on them?".

"Of course.", Alexandra said matter-of-factly, "Their imaginary god didn't...couldn't...save them from Atom's Light. Nor did it at Alexandria. Or in Falls Church. Or in Chevy Chase. Or in Bethesda...they had finally had enough after Bethesda, and left to the North East, vanquished by Atom."

"After that, it was over", Alexandra said. "There are still some of them out there, raiding from time to time, but they fear Atom's power now so have not dared to send a Army into His land again. My dad helped drive the heathens from the Pentagon, and when Elder Lyon's grave and the Relics of Liberty Prime were found here, this site was declared Holy and the Prophet gave his blessing for him to to dwell here and he sent for mom and me. It's nice, but I liked the Holy Island better....the water there was full of the glow, but here the Purifier takes it all out of the river, so swimming isn't as fun."

"That's unfortunate", Carruthers said, it just now occurring that he should have been recording this.

"It's OK", Alexandra replied, "The Glow is too much for those without the gift to withstand, I understand this." Her voice then became low and husky as she pressed up against his back again and began to toy with his hair, "Speaking of the Gift, Dave, there is something I wanted to discuss with you...."

"O-Ok", Carruthers replied, his mouth going dry as he realized the girl meant to seduce him. "W-wh-what is on your mind?"

He felt her attempt to spin the office chair around, and instinctively raised his feet off the ground so she could spin the chair so he now faced her. She then plopped down in his lap and drew up to him nose to nose. He could see that the pupils of her admittedly lovely brown eyes were dilated like dishpans.

"As you hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of Atom.", she said gravely. "do you understand what that means, Dave?"

He shook his head no, now too flustered to speak.

"It means", she continued, "that as my Mother passed Atom's gift, which she received from her mother, to me in her womb, it is Atom's Will that in turn I share His gift with others, until that glorious day comes in which all the world can join together in His Glow. I've chosen you to help me carry out His will." After a long pause, she continued.

"I want you to give me a child, Dave."

Before he could speak, Sister Jensen walked in through the open door behind Alexandra. She didn't appear surprised.

"Alexandra", Jensen said, "The Confessor would like to speak to you for a moment. Now, please."

She glared at Jensen for a moment, then reluctantly got up and walked around her and down the hall. Once the door to the stairs down the hall slammed shut, Jensen entered the room.

"Sister, I...", Carruthers began, only to be cut off.

"Don't worry about it", she said, patting him on the shoulder then peering at another of the monitors, "The Confessor explained it all to me. They are hoping for at least one pregnancy from our visit, and they've already gotten to Hagen and Garcia so you may as well join in on the fun. They even offered me a husband...so long as I stayed and converted as they don't want the baby brought up an 'unbeliever'...I politely declined of course."

"Why us?", he asked, "surely there are plenty of men around."

"They have a rudimentary understanding of how genetics work", Jensen replied, "they want to avoid inbreeding, they figure the babies you fellows give them will be smarter and healthier than the average Wastelander, and most importantly, they want to spread what they call 'Atom's Gift' as widely as possible."

"She mentioned that", Carruthers said, "Did he say what trait they are attempting to pass on?"

"He claims someone with the Gift has a near total immunity to radiation", she said, "sounds preposterous, but he believes it, and if true it would explain the things I'm hearing." She looked up from the monitor and down at his lap, then back at the monitor again. "Anyway, Alexandra is no doubt a lot cleaner than the whores in Rivet City, not to mention livelier in the sack", she then added dryly, "and clearly she had your attention...."

Embarrassed, Carruthers pushed himself up against the table, much to Jensen's amusement. "For fuck's sake, Liz!", he groused.

"Hello", Jensen said, as data started to come up on her screen, "Got something.....a after action report." She scanned over the report, then went back and began to read it closely.

"Fuck..me...running", Jensen said slowly as she read further. Reports of Vertibirds falling out of the sky, weapons failing to fire, all but the most heavily shielded electronics failing for no reason...if she had been reading this anywhere else she would have assumed it was a sick joke...but it wasn't. "Dave, you have got to read this. Where is Dunwich Borers? Look it up for me."

Carruthers called up the map on his pip boy and looked it up.

"Centreville, Virginia", Carruthers replied after a bit, "About 20 miles West of here."

"Find Hagen and get him warming up the SATCOM right the fuck now even if you have to pry him off his new 'friend'", Jensen said in a tone that brooked no dissent. "You, my friend, have struck paydirt."

War Never Changes

The Palace of Caesar

It appeared that Lucius's reply displeased Gladstone as much as it had unsettled him, as Gladstone raised his voice, his answer booming throughout the room.

“Then let us divide the Khan lands at the end of this war", Gladstone thundered, "This war in the east will finish with our victory. When our forces have returned west, after the appropriate period of recuperation, we can fall upon the Khans from the west and south. Would that be agreeable to you Caesar?”

Barnaky glanced over at Martin, he had visibly blanched at the statement. The responsibilities of ruling over Wyoming had accomplished what the NCR, and even Sallow had failed to do...tame the Khans. There was simply no point in dismembering their little Empire....especially since Gladstone had hundreds of thousands of square miles of land to his North and East to expand into. And if that wasn't enough....the Khans were already fighting and dying alongside the Order in Michigan, betraying them after they had shed blood for him would ruin decades of careful diplomacy with the Tribes and small statelets along his borders.

The young slave delivered his note, and after glancing at it Lucius looked directly at him and bade him approach, which he did, arriving just in time to hear Caesar's reply.

“Forgive me High Elder", Lucius replied, shaking his head sadly, "I’ve not made my intention clear in this discussion. I will not declare war on the Khans without provocation, without casus belli. Sallow was a conqueror, Kimball Jr….tried to be...both men met untimely fates because of their hubris. I don’t intend to follow either to the grave. The Legion I’m forging...is one I intend to be a more stable and productive state than either of them ruled. If you intend to attack the Khans...I will not stop you. As I said, The Legion and the Khans, while amicable, are not allied and I’ve no obligation to rise to their defense. They’ve taken Legion gold in exchange for oaths of battle, but that is all. That being said….I would desire that The Legion be permitted to offer terms of peaceful annexation to the lands of New Canaan and northern Utah. I want to gain what I seek through diplomacy for a change….not warfare. Something Sallow never considered.”

“However,” he continued, “If you are content to wait until after the war in the east is decided to resolve this, then I’m content with that oath and welcome your support and pledge to do so.”

“Ave Lord Barnaky,” Lucius said as he rose to meet the robotic construct that served as his proxy, “This meeting has been overdue for far too long, hasn’t it? Please join us.”

"That it has, Caesar", Barnaky replied, taking the seat he had been offered, "That it has. I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your injuries." He then looked at the High Elder. "It's good to see you again as well, High Elder." he then addressed both men. "By all means, please continue."

“Lord-Paladin and Mighty Caesar", Gladstone began, "Might I express my thanks for having such a righteous cause brought to the attention of the Western Brotherhood, and to have such magnificent allies to fight alongside. You will be pleased to know that I have ordered the deployment of the full arsenal; as much of the forbidden weaponry as can be moved marches east against the cult. Chemical weapons to unleash a true plague upon them, along with some of the more savage pre-war weaponry which has proved highly useful in past scourges. No quarter shall be given, all those associated with the cult will burn and die from the highest priest to the lowest serf.”

Gladstone paused, to wet his lips before continuing.

“Such is the nature of the scourge in the laws lain down by the Codex. A full force of ten thousand is being readied as I speak. Along with a further thousand mercenaries as can be hired from the west and north. If you would wish for the Brotherhood to produce any military elements sorely needed in the east, such as tanks and the like, now would be the time to say so. The force will mainly be infantry and artillery, and the vehicles to move them in battle.”

“Your support is welcome, as I previously mentioned, Lucius replied. "Legatus Aurelius even now marches east to engage the cult. I fear the war will claim many more bodies before the cult is finally defeated.”

"I am gratified by your support as well, High Elder", Barnaky began carefully, "Your strength, added to ours, will ensure our ultimate victory over the Cult. But with that said, however, I must make clear that I cannot support the deployment of chemical or biological weapons, or for that matter, deployment or use of nuclear weapons with a yield higher than the sub-tactical devices allowed by the Codex....irregardless of what the Cult has done or will do. At the previous conference, I had no less than three factions ask my Order for aid in destroying strategic nuclear weapons they either had possession of or access to. Why? Because they trusted that when I said I would make sure they were never used, I meant just that....that I would ensure no-one would ever be in a position to use them, ever. Including me. I will not squander my hard-won credibility on this issue for a fleeting tactical advantage. Even were I inclined to use such weapons, i must point out that the logistics of equipping and training the nearly thirty thousand allies currently fighting alongside my Armies to survive in a NBC battlefield during a active campaign would be a nightmare."

"There are also other considerations", Barnaky continued, "We estimate that around 200,000 souls reside in the current Theatre of Operations in Michigan, Indiana, and Kentucky....very few of them support the Cult. The last census of the Integrated Republic of Detroit recorded 923,621 Citizens. While that number has been significantly reduced, they are actively fighting the Cult. While we are committed to honoring the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the Republic, I plan to annex Indiana and Kentucky, and Michigan's status will be decided in negotiations with the Republic post-war. Using prohibited weapons puts the lives of innocents at risk....innocents to whom the Scourge order does not apply to. Pittsburgh itself will be leveled with the dust before this is over...but the lands we are fighting in now have no allegiance to the Cult beyond what they can compel with a bayonet and the inhabitants thereof will be dealt with on a case by case basis."

"And if I may", Barnaky said in conclusion, "I'd like to return for a moment to your proposal regarding the Khans. Like Caesar, I have no treaty obligations to them. But I hold no will towards the Khans, for they do not trouble my lands, nor do they molest my people who reside or travel through theirs. The status quo between them, the Legion, and I is acceptable as it is..I see no reason to make war on them, nor do I understand your position towards them. If you need land, the former Provinces of Canada to your north are wide open for expansion, Alberta in particular had considerable mineral wealth according to pre-war records. Montana and North Dakota are also sparsely populated and suitable for settlement. Attacking the Khans without just provocation now...just as they are finally settling down and abandoning their Raider ways, not to mention aiding us in this War....is not a venture I am willing to participate in, nor will I close my borders to any refugees from any such conflict. I owe the Khans fighting and dying for me in Michigan, even as I speak, that much at least."

War Never Changes

Armored Train "Paladin Maximus" - Santa Fe Railyard

"Delightful", Star Paladin Clark, Commander of the Order's elite Brimstone Brigade, said before taking another long pull at the ice cold bottle of Old Chicago Stout he had been given by a aide. "Haven't had a drink since we got out here....hopefully Lucius's reforms will extend to alcohol before long."

He then turned his attention back to the map of Santa Fe spread out on the table before them in the rather crowded conference room onboard the train's Command Car.

"Where was I?", he asked, "Oh, yes...the Eastern defenses are nearly complete, the Engineers estimate it will require a week to complete them. With that, the city's defense lines will be complete. One Legion should be sufficient to hold this city against any likely adversary, including the NCR, for as long as provisions last...", adding "...assuming they manage to reach the city, that is."

"I doubt the NCR will try again anytime soon", Barnaky replied, "Not after the thrashing Lucius gave them...the idiots in Shady Sands can't blame us for losing the War this time, and Lucius sending his prisoners home rather than putting them on crosses made it impossible for them to hide the fact that the NCR was outclassed in every category but technology." He than asked, "You've served with the Legion enough, George....what do you think is the best thing we could do to help them going forward?"

"Artillery, my Lord", Clark replied, "they have a number of pieces, but it's all pre-war weapons in a variety of models and conditions, and aside from a handful of former NCR artillerists that joined the Legion, they have no trained crews...except for the pieces they have here in Santa Fe, but our people haven't had much time to work with the men the Prefect provided."

"Out East", Clark continued, "they'll have our boys to provide artillery support, and if I know Aurelius, once he sees what they can do for him he's going to want units of his own....we may as well get out ahead of that. Providing them with a sufficient amount of ordnance, and the training to operate and maintain them themselves, and they will do the rest...they are very fast learners."

"Good idea", Barnaky replied, "Put that in your report to the Paladin-General and I'll endorse it." He then looked over at Martin, noticing he was checking his watch.

"It time?", Barnaky asked.

"Yes, My Lord", Martin replied, "If we leave now, we should have some time before the conference officially opens."

"Very well then", Barnaky said as he stood up, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

The Palace of Caesar - later

Martin and Barnaky disembarked from the local horse drawn carriage they had hired, and as Martin paid the driver with a gold Ten Dollar coin...which being worth half a aureus the driver was very grateful for....Barnaky paused to look around. What he had seen on the trip from the Railyard was quite impressive, clearly Lucius had made great progress from the reign of his predecessor. While the Legion seemed to be somewhat more willing to execute offenders than he allowed his own lieutenants, that was likely due to the difference in the times and place of the situation they found themselves in. In the Mid-West, even many of the tribals had still remembered the Pre-War world, and how even the most difficult problems could be overcome by working together...in many areas smashing the largest Raider/bandit gang was all it took to win over the long suffering settlers, and even weaker raiders who saw the handwriting on the wall and chose to join the future before it inexorably rolled right over them. Here...the tribes Sallow then Lucius found cared for nothing outside their own lands and had to be dragged kicking and screaming to a better future. Unfortunate...but effective. The Legion's methods may be harsh, but in the end it was what enabled them to maintain their independence from the NCR....and from him as well, which suited him just fine. He didn't want or need to rule the world.

As Martin returned, the pair approached the gate and after presenting their credentials to the Praetorians standing watch there, were admitted inside. A lot of work had gone into the building and grounds, Barnaky had to look hard to spot the reminders of the pre-war library building that the palace had been re-purposed from. Barnaky didn't judge...after all, it was certainly more practical than the 45 story First National Bank Tower in Omaha that the Order, at his behest, had restored and re-purposed into the seat of Government for the Order's lands...restoring the building had cost a vast sum and took a decade to complete. Fortunately the people had taken to it, finding it more accessible and less forbidding than the hardened nuclear bunkers the Brotherhood had traditionally preferred up to that point, a form of tribal behavior in itself.

The Praetorian guards snapped to attention as they entered the front doors of the Villa. along the walls of the foyer, were numerous trophies of both Lucius's skills as a hunter, and successful general. Next to an enormous stuffed Yao Gai, mounted on it's hind legs standing nearly nine feet tall, was a exhibit that looked newer than the others. Inside a glass case, on a carefully folded NCR flag, was a 9mm semiautomatic pistol, a well made leather holster for it marked with the NCR Bear and three stars, and a Tanker's helmet, as well as what appeared to be a red vehicle ID plate emblazoned with the three white stars of a Lieutenant General and a NCR military ID card. On a small brass plate attached to the case was a simple statement "Taken in battle outside Phoenix". Barnaky read the name on the ID card and smirked inwardly.

Kimball. Not many people can nail a hide like that to their trophy wall.

Barnaky, Martin right behind him, ambled on to the woman waiting for them at the end of the foyer. The more expensive cut of her outfit, as well as the small cross hanging from her neck, revealed her identity before she even spoke.

“Salve," she said, "I am Hannah of New Canaan. Welcome to Santa Fe on behalf of my husband, Caesar Lucius. And welcome to our home, please make yourselves comfortable inside.”

"Salve", Barnaky replied, "I am Simon Barnaky, Elder and Lord-Paladin of the Midwestern Brotherhood, and this is Brother Martin, my Secretary of State. We are honored to accept the gracious hospitality of you and your husband."

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, they were led by attendants into the main hall, and shown their place at the conference table. Looking around, Barnaky could see that they were early arrivals, of the attendees he was aware of, only High Elder Gladstone was here, and he was currently in what looked like a rather tense conversation with Lucius, who appeared to be in good health in spite of having nearly been shot dead killing Kimball so recently. He didn't hear what was said, but between the enhanced optics of the robot, and being able to read lips, he caught the last part of Lucius's reply.

"....when the true war now lies east!”

"Well, shit", Barnaky thought darkly, "I don't like the sound of that...what did Gladstone ask of him?"

For the first time, Barnaky realized that his long time goal of clearing his name with the Brotherhood in general may not be reconcilable with his relations with his neighbors. This was disturbing, and something he had to think upon.

"They do not seem to be having a very jovial discussion, my Lord", Martin said, "what do you think..."

"They aren't, and I don't know and intend to find out", Barnaky replied, cutting Martin off before he could finish his question. "Paper and pen, please".

Handed a piece of paper and a ballpoint pen, he scribbled "Is this a bad time?" on the paper, folded it over, and waved over a servant.

"Please give your Master Lord-Paladin Barnaky's regards", and pressed the folded note into her hand, "and give him this as quickly as possible. Thank you."

Barnaky, bidding Martin follow, stepped over towards one of the larger windows and looked out.

"Now we wait", Barnaky said quietly.

War Never Changes

SAC HQ Bunker

"BE AWARE, SLAVES OF STEEL!" the old woman screeched as she strode forward, heedless of the carnage around her, "SERFS OF A BRAIN IN A JAR! FOR WE CAN KNOW NO FEAR! IT WHAT SLUMBERS UNDER DUNWHICH WILL AWAKE! AND IT SHALL FIND A REALM UNITED IN ITS WORSHIP! I HAVE SPOKEN THE NAME THAT BURNS!"

A laser beam stabbed into her shoulder, causing her to fall, but then she staggered to her feet and began to move forward again.

Now only a couple yards away from the camera, she looked at them and pointed, glaring at the group. "THERE IS NO SALVATION FOR ANY OF YOU! UG-QUALTOTH WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL, AND CHEW ON YOUR SPIRIT..." It was then, that suddenly fear appeared on her withered face, and she stopped to scream. "S..souless Abomination..w..what is that thing...."

Stumbling backwards, she began to crawl away. The camera swiveled to where she had been pointing, at the very spot where Brother Kyle, who looked a bit astonished himself, stood, his laser rifle at the ready. The camera swiveled back to the woman and spat out an order, two solders sprung forward, one grabbing her arms so she could not detonate any suicide charge, the other roughly frisking her.

"No bomb, sir", the second solder said, then none too gently picked up the struggling woman, and carried her to the rear, still shrieking nonsense about her "god" and "souless ones".

"Search her more closely, and put a gag on her", the cameraman said coldly, "I don't want to listen to her bullshit all the way back to base."

"Pause, please", Joseph said, and the screen froze with the struggling woman being hauled off by two Knights. He then looked over at the man, in a red tunic, sitting next to him. "What do you think, Vulpes? It's the same woman we saw in the earlier clip....that is confirmed....I'm not sure what to make of it. One minute, she basically commandeers a Raider gang from it's leader, with almost no protest....then she leads them nearly a quarter of a mile into a head-on confrontation with a platoon of Knights without flinching, only to flee from the least well armed and armored man there.". He grabbed the carafe of water from the table between then and refilled his glass, adding in frustration, "I can't stop thinking about it. I know there is something there....but what it is just eludes me!"

They had covered a lot of ground over the past day, intelligence briefings, support requests...what the Inquisition knew about the Cult...there had been much to discuss before Vulpes flew to Indianapolis Airport. Only a few items were left on the agenda, and this was one of the most important ones. Thirty years of experience screamed at him that something was important about this, but he could not see it, no matter hard he tried. Vulpes was the most gifted intelligence operatives he had ever met...he hoped that a new set of eyes would ferret out the truth that was eluding him.

"The woman?", Joseph replied, "She still lives...the Field unit in Indianapolis is holding her. She's largely her old self again. The Psychologists assure me she is completely, and probably incurably, mad, as most every committed Cult member we've interrogated has been....you'll find her most unpleasant. I'll make the arrangements with Inquisitor Stahl in Indianapolis to transfer her to your custody at your convenience. She'll be a good introduction to the kind of Enemy we face, and perhaps you will spot what I've been missing."

"Lancer-Sergeant Kyle is still in Indianapolis as well", Joseph said, "The Paladin-General's staff is debriefing him, trying to learn what happened in Boston. Spends his free time watching newsreels and films...mostly of our History since the Arrival and the Lord-Paladin himself. I can make arrangements through the Lord-Paladin's office if you would like to interview him as well. He's just as baffled by that woman's behavior as we are."

Capital Westeland - Adams AFB - 1:00 AM EDT

Guided by the IR beacons placed on both sides of the runway, the C-130...running lights off...touched down, executing a perfect 3 point landing in pitch darkness. Slowing as it hurtled down the runway towards the massive wreck of the Satellite Crawler at the other end, it eventually decelerated to taxis speed and followed the marshal's instructions, turning around and stopping at the designated spot, then cutting it's engines. As the rear cargo door began to open, a number of men in black combat armor took up position. Once the ramp was completely open, a tall, elderly, nearly skeletal thin man, visibly armed only with a walking stick that he did not seem to need, and wearing night vision goggles strode down the ramp and approached the leader of the group.

"You are Captain Geisler, Ja?", the old man asked, using a strange accent, as he nonchalantly transferred his walking stick to his left hand, and extended his right.

"Yes, sir", Geisler reached out and shook the old man's proffered hand. Commander Jabsco, back at Bannister, had warned him the client was a stickler for protocol and the people he represented were most definitely not people Talon Company wanted to fuck with. "Dr Strasse, I presume?"

"Korrekt, Captain", Strasse said, idly gesturing with his walking stick for the robots waiting at the top of the ranp to proceed. Six Protectrons, all configured as cargo handlers, descended the ramp, each pair carrying a metal footlocker between them, which they placed on the ground next to Strasse in a row. "I am Engineer-General Dr Wilhelm Strasse...you and your men will address me as Doctor, or Dr Strasse rather than by my rank, verstehen sie?"

"Yes, Doctor", Geisler replied, not recognizing the last words, but figuring out the context all the same. "We are at your service, as has been arranged."

"Excellent, Captain", Strasse said as one of the robots opened each lid, revealing all four boxes were completely full of bottle caps. To demonstrate, Strasse inserted the stick into one box, twisting and turning it until it reached the bottom of the box, then withdrew it. "One hundred thousand bottle caps....the boxes weigh precisely 50 pounds empty should you wish to weigh them." He then added, as one of the Protectrons offered Geisler a clip board before waddling off to join it's companions who were beginning to unload the cargo, "This constitutes payment of our contract with Talon Company in full. Sign for receipt where indicated, please....and forward the red copy to your Commander for his records."

Fort Gratiot Lighthouse, about thirty minutes before sunset

The Republic lookout gazed Northward with their binoculars with astonishment as the largest group of vessels they had ever seen in one place before appeared over the horizon, steaming straight for the mouth of the St Clair at fifteen knots. Soon, the force sailed down the river, ten of the big twin turreted monitors, a swarm of smaller patrol boats, and nearly two dozen freighters of various types and sizes...the six largest, which all looked the same, flew Brotherhood ensigns, most of the rest flew the colors of the various Lakeman clans.

The officer at the lighthouse broke out the new codebook that had arrived from Windsor just a few hours ago and prepared a encrypted message and sent it off. He estimated that the force would be off Windsor by 11pm....the Republic might surive the next few days after all.

Armored Train "Paladin-General Maximus" - near North Platte, Nebraska

Barnaky sat and watched the world whip by the window of the passenger car at 120 miles per hours, noting the bumper crop of grain growing with approval, though he had seen it innumerable times before through the sensors of the agricultural robots that helped tend them. It seemed only yesterday that this area was a barren Wasteland, only abandoned farms, cracked earth and dead trees as far as the eye could see. Time, and Brotherhood intervention, had made this place livable again. It reminded him that he had indeed made a difference, and the consolation that his new life was worth what it had cost him.

Across the table from him, Martin was poring over reports. The Embassy in Santa Fe was reporting that all the major powers had agreed to Caesar's conference, including High Elder Gladstone. The Ambassador in Electric City had notified him that Gladstone had endorsed the Lord-Paladin's Scourge order, and soon the Armies of the Western Brotherhood would be making their way East. Once more, they would stand together against a common foe...gratifying news that bode well for the future. They would need to speak to Caesar about it....if they needed to pass through Khan lands to reach the nearest rail-head at Cheyenne, safe passage would need to be arranged, Caesar's help would be vital in arranging that with the Great Khan.

An aide brought a new message to him, which he scanned, then went and re-read it slowly. He then looked up at the robot quietly gazing out the window. He pitied the Lord-Paladin, in a way. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for him, confined to a container deep underground in Vault 0. It had been Dr Strasse's idea to adapt the Calculator's control methods to enable him to control a robot...avatar he called it....to enable him to interact with others on a personal level. It seemed to help, though Strasse had been surprised when Barnaky requested that other robot types, such as Assaultrons, be adapted in a similar way to enable him, and the others who had joined him inside the Calculator over the years, to engage in combat. They had found that lag in the satellite feed the Calculator used to expand it's control area made close combat inadvisable, as a proficient foe could exploit it to strike just ahead of the avatar's ability to react. While Barnaky was nonplussed by this, Strasse had a team working on it...with mixed results so far. Martin cleared his throat, then spoke.

"Sir", Martin said, "We've just received a message from Bunker Gamma. A delegation from the insurgents in New Orleans have arrived in St Louis."

"Really?", Barnaky replied, checking and noticing that the message had indeed arrived, and been flagged for his attention, so he read it for himself. "So they have....interesting. It seems they are offering us free navigation of the Mississippi....apparently all we need do in exchange is fight their war for them."

"Well, trade with them would be beneficial", Martin replied, "as well as access to the Gulf...something the Keys has denied us for decades."

"And the dissolution of the Keys Republic would drive a stake through the heart of their so-called 'Co-Prosperity Sphere'", Barnaky scoffed. "Seriously, do they know what the history behind that name was? Somehow I don't think so."

"It would also likely result in the success of the Cult-backed insurgents in Florida", Martin said matter-of-factly, "which would give them a foothold in the South....where we cannot reach them. And if this Pact is not a military alliance aimed at us already, then the Texans, Commonwealth, and Franklin would almost certainly make it so if we back this move.....they fear our power, and helping Secessionists would prove those fears were not without reason. And do we really want to send our Brothers and Sisters to die so the rulers of this 'Southern Liberal Concordat' can drive their slaves in safety, while spouting this 'Every Man a Consul' line they've adopted?"

"So you see the problem we face then, Brother.", Barnaky said with approval. "Our reaction to this will have serious long-term repercussions, that is a incontrovertible fact." He then added, "What do you suggest?"

"Open talks, but don't commit to anything beyond expanding trade ties yet", Martin said, "Use that opening to send in the Inquisition, and perhaps Missionaries, to find out what they aren't telling us, and you take the opportunity to engage in a frank discussion with President Harris on this subject...not to mention their intentions in Oklahoma...in Santa Fe. This also concerns Caesar, as our relations with Texas directly affect him. In my opinion, access to the Gulf now isn't worth making enemies of the Texans permanently given the strategic situation we face. Not to mention, there is more than one way to skin a mole rat....or reach the Gulf."

"I knew I appointed you to this job for a reason", Barnaky replied. "If this thing could smile, I'd be smiling right now."

"Make it happen, Brother."

War Never Changes

Electric City - Throne Room

“That the Lord Paladin has seen fit to declare this Cult to be scourged is a troubling matter in and of itself", the High Elder exclaimed, after several minutes of deep thought, "I wish to see the evidence that would justify this declaration, and if it be found truthful, know this ambassador. That the steel banners shall be raised, and from here, a force such as to make the word tremble shall be issued. Should it not be worthy however, know that the Western Brotherhood will make no efforts to assist your nation in your war.”

"Of course, High Elder", Ambassador McCarthy replied, gesturing for aides to bring up a push cart with a steel box on it. "enclosed within, is a complete copy of the evidence upon which Lord-Paladin Barnaky based his decision to exercise one of the most solemn and terrible powers a Elder of the Brotherhood can wield. It consists of over 1,500 hours of recorded video, ranging from on-scene documentation of the aftermath of Cult attacks, live interviews of survivors, interrogation records of enemy combatants, as well as after-action reports, technical analysis of captured enemy weapons and materiel, and other items of interest....all indexed to aid in analysis. In addition, is thousands of hours of radio broadcasts emanating from the cult itself."

Macarthy then added, "While this will require time to properly analyze, we have prepared a short presentation that will provide a representative example of what users of this database will find.....if it pleases the High Elder, I can deliver it now, before you."

"Thank you my lord", MaCarthy said, and began at the High Elder's bidding, starting the projector. On screen, stood two grim faced officers, wearing what appeared to be dark blue overcoats, and hats with the Brotherhood insignia on them, waiting for something. Nearby, behind them were several Power armored Knights. Behind them, a a settlement burned. A movieboard was held out, on it was written "Mackinaw City - Commodore Hackett inspects aftermath of Cult attack". As the two officers proceeded through the gates, whcih had been battered in, corpses could be seen hanging from each lamp post down the main street of the settlement. it got worse from there...

"About ten days ago", McCarthy said as the film ran, A large Cult force descended from Canada into northern Michigan. This settlement, Mackinaw City, was their first target. Survivors say they attacked about oh-two-hundred hours Central Time. The occupants of the settlement had no warning, and were overrun in minutes. After a general massacre of the settlement's inhabitants, they moved on, leaving a small force behind for the purpose of holding the Soo Locks, known locally as "The Passage", the highly strategic link between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan. After Commodore Hackett's Marine detachment secured the locks, and settlement ruins, the scene was documented before burying the slain Wastelanders. As you can see here...", as cameraman film caught the elder of the two officers dart out from a courtyard and began retching. The cameraman walking into the courtyard to find a young woman skewered on a spit, being roasted over a fire. Before the film abruptly stopped, a familiar marked container of pre-war BBQ sauce could be seen perched on the rocks around the firepit..."evidence of cannibalism was found, as it has been in many sites occupied by the Cult for any length of time.

The film changed to a night scene, this time the camera was the familiar gren tint of a military FLIR sensor. A Super Mutant was walking towards a old Super Duper Mart, it's sign being altered in a rather lewd fashion. At one point, the Mutant turns, and the camera focuses on it's face.

"This", McCarthy continued, "is Frank Mitchell, First Gen Super Mutant, onetime follower of the Master, and former second-in-command of the Mutant Liberation Army, a long time enemy of our Order. After the MLA's field Army was smashed at the Battle of Lincoln in 2230, we lost track of him. Recently, he was identified as one of the lieutenants of the Cult's field commander in Indiana, "Rog'Resh". That individual is himself a Mutant, rumor has it he is a mutant of the Vault-Tec strain from the Capital Wasteland." the footage shifted to a stoutly fenced compound. Penned inside, were well over a hundred feral ghouls, tended by non-ferals.

"At this position, the defenders were maintaining a large force of feral ghouls. They use them for combat, as well as a terror weapon to compel compliance from the Wastelanders around them. In the database, you will find considerable footage of their deployment in combat."

"In conclusion", McCarthy said, "the following is a radio intercept confirmed to be a speech my the Leader of the Cult, their so called "Blind Prophet"...it appears to be his declaration of War against the Brotherhood and the Integrated Republic of Detroit. It was broadcast throughout the Cult's lands."

"FAITHFUL!" A voice roared, "He who lures beyond has a demand for us! A demand, everyone of us must, and will obey! Nobody of us shall linger, nobody of us shall rest! We, his tools on this world, shall carve his name across every stone, every tree and every soul! We shall honor him, be it in our first scream or in our dying breath! But, there are those, who not share our devotion...

For a moment, there were screams of anger, red and roaring, as accursed devotion was unleashed, and the voices of the Faithful rang through the city. But once more, they died down, as the Prophet raised his hand.

"They, who call themselves the "Brotherhood of Steel" have dared to march against us! To march against Ug-Qualtoth himself! They, who call themselves the "Integrated Republic of Detroit" dare to encroach us! THEY DARE TO DENY UG-QUALTOTH!"

"I call on you! Every single one of you! You shall deliver his Wrath, his crimsion fury! The same fury that has already crushed so much in its path! I call on you...TO DESTROY THEM ALL! I CALL ONTO ALL OF YOU, I CALL FOR A CRUSADE AGAINST OHIO AND ALL LAND THAT LIES BEYOND!

I CALL FOR A CRUSADE AGAINST THE BROTHERHOOD OF STEEL, AN AGAINST THE REPUBLIC OF DETROIT!"

Omaha, Nebraska

Barnaky read the note Martin had handed him. The Legion had sent it using the SATCOM suite he had arranged to be installed in Santa Fe, at Lucius's request, so there was no question regarding it's authenticity.

"I, Caesar Lucius, Imperator of The Legion invite you to a meeting of delegates in the Legion’s capital of Santa Fe to determine the future of the West Coast and of our respective nations. Safe passage is guaranteed throughout Legion territory to all those that bear Caesar's mark."

"What do you think he is planning?", Barnaky asked Martin.

"The Embassy tells me they were informed that Lucius has also invited The Western Order, the Texas Confederation, Mr House, and even the NCR, sir.", Martin replied. "It would seem Lucius has decided to pursue a Post-War settlement now, rather than later....the success of his arms against the NCR in the recent war does put him in a unique position to be magnanimous towards Shady Sands."

"True", Barnaky replied. "None of us can afford a resumption of hostilities, the way things are heating up out East."

He then looked at Martin and added, "pack your bags, and have the Special Train prepared....we'll be attending."

"Yes, sir."

About an hour later, a encrypted reply was sent both to Caesar himself, and to the Ambassador in Santa Fe.

The Capitol, Omaha

Caesar,

I have received, and an honored by, your gracious invitation to the conference you are convening at your Capital of Santa Fe. Both I and my Secretary of State shall, along with a small retinue of aides, be pleased to attend. We expect to arrive in Santa Fe by rail in about two days time. I look foward to meeting you soon.

With Regards,

Simon Barnaky
Lord-Paladin
Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel

War Never Changes

Windsor State House

“I see", President Traowski replied peevishly, clearly not pleased by what he had said. "I guess I’ll have to see what your Commodore Hackett has to say about the situation. I’ve already started to mobilize the Republican military, so I have some time before I can even begin to take my city back.”

With that, she turned her back to him again and the audience was over and Pendergast was ushered out of the office. Inquiries were made, and he learned of a nearby hotel where arrangements would be made for him and his escort. He didn't even have a change of clothes, but he'd make do....having grown up in a Regime where asceticism was a virtue made temporary hardships far more bearable. As they made their way to the hotel, Pendergast reflected on the brief conversation he had had with Traowski. She did seem determined to fight, and the chatter he picked up at the State House about arrests and summary executions made it clear that she was...however belatedly...finally cleaning house. He would suggest to Hackett that he offer the services of the Inquisitors with the relief force....they had long practice in finding Cult cells and pulling them up by the roots.

But despite Traowski's irritation at the information he could provide....the meeting, in fact, had gone far better than he hoped. She had not asked the question he had been dreading to have to field.....Why, exactly, did the Brotherhood have a relief force eighteen hours steaming time from Detroit? Hopefully she never would.

Electric City - Throne Room

“So", High Elder Gladstone intoned imperiously, "The Midwestern Brotherhood has at long last stepped foot inside the Western Brotherhoods halls. A momentous occasion for sure, so come, speak to me, what is it that Barnaky would desire? I think you will find that much has changed since our last meeting.”

"What he has always desired, High Elder", Brother McCarthy, leader of the delegation replied, "To end the century long separation between us. He also has instructed me to extend his congratulations on your recent success against those who had challenged your lawful authority." He then continued. "In compliance with the agreement between your Lordship and Lord-Paladin Barnaky, I have come to you to present my credentials as the Midwestern Order's Ambassador to your Court."

Once the ceremony of presenting his credentials to the elder was concluded, Brother McCarthy continued.

"If it pleases the High Elder", McCarthy said, "It is incumbent on me to notify you of a recent change in the state of affairs in the Midwest. In the Eastern part of what was the United States, a group has arisen that is a threat to civilization, if not the future of Mankind itself. Having recognized the severity of this threat, the Lord-Paladin has devoted all the power our Order can muster to destroying it. With your permission, I will read aloud Lord-Paladin Barnaky's official declaration regarding this group.

"The Capitol, Omaha, Nebraska

Whereas, the followers of the so-called Cult of Ug-Qualtoth have, in obedience to the commands, and encouragement of, the leaders of their so-called Faith have murdered many thousands of innocents, often in unspeakable ways,

Whereas, they have embraced Mutants who once served the Master, and elevated them into the highest offices of their Regime, and gave them license to persecute any unfortunate enough to fall into their power,

Whereas, they use feral ghouls as a weapon of war routinely,

Whereas, they intentionally misuse the relics and technology of the Old World, whether it is prohibited by the Codex, or not, to further their own malign ends,

Whereas, they condone, and even encourage, the practice of cannibalism,

Whereas, they have, since their unprovoked attack on forces of my Order in Cleveland seven years ago, committed so many unprovoked acts of subversion and aggression against my People, and innocents outside the lands held by my Order, that they would require many pages to make a full accounting,

Whereas, the Cult aforementioned, has openly proclaimed itself a Enemy of the Brotherhood of Steel and of any sort of human civilization,

I, Simon Barnaky, Elder and Lord-Paladin of the Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel, by the authority vested in me, do hereby proclaim that for the good of Mankind, and to vindicate the injustices they have showered upon my people, the group known as the Cult, and all it's works, must and shall be Scourged from the face of this Earth. To that end, I command all those subject to my authority to provide their utmost effort to this Sacred task. Furthermore, I respectfully call upon our Brothers and Sisters in other Orders to join us, and our allies outside the Order, in eliminating a threat to all no less dire than that presented to the World by the Master and the Enclave.

Finally, I hereby give fair warning that any person, or political entity, who knowingly supports the Cult and obstructs the effort to implement my Command shall be considered to be de facto allies of the Cult, and therefore Enemies of the Brotherhood, and treated accordingly.

Signed by my hand this day in the Council Chambers at the Capitol

Simon Barnaky

Elder and Lord-Paladin
Midwestern Order of the Brotherhood of Steel"

"High Elder", Brother McCarthy said as he bowed respectfully, "My Lord has sent with us, for your perusal, evidence that will substantiate the charges that justify issuance of such a grave and terrible command. We await your pleasure."