Chapter 17: Diplomacy
Jon was walking down the rail line with Nick at his side. Piper stayed with Nat, Dogmeat with both them, and Preston continued doing Jon’s job. He stopped by Jake’s and agreed to meet at the Charles View Amphitheater in four days time to tackle the Vault tech HQ. Today his mission was meeting Elder Maxon, and beginning terse negotiations. Nick was of course going to attend that conference.
He was walking towards Graygarden and saw the problem he knew would develop as soon as he saw the ship. Their first flights would be to scout their mooring zone at the airport, find Recon Gladius, searching for the lost squad, and scout other points of interest in that order. He asked to keep a small outpost stocked, and now a garrison had returned for the next shipment. He walked into the greenhouse and up to a couple irritated hot rods, in T-60. They both carried that disgusting looking ‘Assault Rifle.’
“Give us the food bot.”
“That’s Ms. White to you soldier. The mayor of this settlement.” Jon didn’t hesitate to reply.
Ms. White beamed. The one hot rod said, “This doesn’t concern you, citizen.”
Jon huffed, “Do you not read your goddamned intel reports, soldier, that people died to get you? I’m the General of the fucking Minutemen. See the star? It means I outrank you and everyone else in your organization, save one.”
Ms. White cut in, “Thank goodness you arrived General. There seems to be a misunderstanding. Our agreement was to keep a small post with food. We have, diligently. However they now have a full garrison. While we’re more than happy for new neighbors, their request would cut into large chunk of our output. Even now. We do have agreements with Vault 81 to maintain, and they actually pay.”
One hot rod scoffed. Paying a bot for food. Jon was irritated now, and he spied the flaw Sturgis mentioned. He was carrying his new show stopper on the outing. If he shot them the war would be swift, and not in his favor.
Jon said, “You will retreat from this settlement. I will retreat with you. I had a whole plan to respectfully request an audience with Elder Maxson, as a fellow head of state, but now I demand it. March soldiers.”
“With that fucking synth trash with you? You're lucky to still be alive General.”
Nick coolly replied, “Synth detective, jackass. At least get the model right.”
Jon smiled, “Yeah. With the synth. Now march, or the fight starts right here. I assure you Elder Maxson will severely reprimand your corpses in a couple weeks, when he finds you two bit off more than they could chew. On your second day in the Wealth.”
They looked at each other a moment, thinking about firing, but they did glance at some of the intel reports. There was a General, and it was obviously this man. One said, “We aren’t turning our backs on that thing.”
“You’re a thing, hot rod.”
The one growled lowly. Jon said, “Fine. Shoot us in the back, and you wont survive for a second shot.”
Jon and Nick lined up in front of the firing squad and marched. Their power armor mechanic wasn't as good as Sturgis, from what Jon and Nick heard. The servos were certainly serviced, but the man had a touch. Thankfully he had tagged the vertibird, and its air-frame was only that, along with a full set of T-51 that went on his personal suit. Sturgis was currently fixing it up for the Glowing Sea, and the other suits for Minuteman uses.
There was a vertibird on the roof of the police station, and both could hear the construction crews working away to fortify the position. They could see them when they rounded out from the alley beside, and stood at the gate waiting for the post commander. It was exactly who Jon expected. Danse was actually out of his armor and in black brotherhood fatigues, sleeves rolled like Jon’s, with combat armor to boot sans helmet.
“Paladin.”
“General, of course you would bring a synth.”
Nick lit a smoke, “The synth’s name is Nick Valentine. Detective Nick Valentine.”
Dance grimaced, as he usually did, “Is there a problem?”
Jon said, “Yes. I demand a meeting with Elder Maxson. I would have requested politely, but your men ended that attempt.”
Dance looked at them angry, “Report.”
One said, “They wanted us to pay. Robots.”
“And you didn’t report that?”
“We have to, Paladin? They’re robots.”
Dance kept his tone level, “Knight, my reports clearly indicate that farm supplies surrounding settlements in the area, including a functioning vault with almost 2000 people in it. Your orders were to inform them that we would need to expand our existing agreement. Not demand tribute. My reports also indicate that a new trade agreement between the local settlements was apart of a larger network, though admittedly that was speculation based on my observations. However, good people, Brothers and Sisters, died for that intelligence Knights. You have outright ignored it, and their sacrifices. You will report for latrine duties. Some still need dug. I believe your armor also requires maintenance.”
“Paladin.” They both said with military discipline before marching off.
Danse said, “I believe I know the answer, but does that rectify the issue?”
Jon smiled, “No, Paladin, it doesn’t. I will speak to Maxson. In my authority as Military Governor of the SCPG, I name Nick Valentine a temporary special envoy, and my adjunct. These are official diplomatic proceedings from now on. He well attend them.”
Danced grimaced, “May I ask why?”
Jon said, “Because he’s from here, in more ways than one. The people of the Commonwealth, my people, will be represented in these talks.”
“They won’t like that.”
“That’s their problem.” Nick puffed out, before ditching his burnt smoke.
Danse looked at them for a moment more, “I have to notify my superior first. Wait here.”
Jon lit his own smoke, and Nick partook another. Eyes on the bastion of the small fort never left them, and no one’s guns left Nick. He replied with a smile and wave of his gun hand. Paladin Danse walked back out about five minutes later.
“My superior has agreed to your terms. I, however, will escort you at all times. You will also give up your rifle, and the synth detective will be disarmed. That is not up for negotiation.”
Jon smelled a small game. He never mentioned his sidearm, but perhaps Maxson gave orders to allow it, but sneak a full disarm in if he could. If he was allowed his synth and his sidearm, then perhaps Maxson was reasonable. The Brotherhood and the Minutemen have common enemies after all, and the chance to observe a threat, potential or otherwise, up close couldn’t be passed up.
Nick said, “At least you got the model right, Paladin.”
Jon said, “I’m not giving up my sidearm. Its a historical relic. Older than the bombs by over a century.”
Dance said, “You may keep your sidearm. And the synth detective?”
“I agree. Not a scratch you hear?” Nick said as he handed his 44 over. He had his old pipe banger taped inside his frame under some plastic he still had left. He built it himself, and was deadly accurate with it.
Jon handed his rifle over too. Danse looked at it with an approving eye. Just one more thing to warn them that they’re dealing with the real deal. Brand new weapons, in calibers capable of killing them.
They all walked into the station and up to the roof. The vertibird spun up, and took off towards the airport. After the Brotherhood, he would look at the Constitution, and walk his new territory. The ride was actually pretty smooth, and they flew high enough to avoid any potshots.
He wasn't one to let an opportunity go to waste, and he had binoculars up though the entire ride. He missed Danse’s small smirk under his armor. He took a birds eye view of the commonwealth, and picked out all manner of holes, settlements, future construction projects, Quincy, and the Castle as they neared the airport. It was still full of mirelurks, and the town still had raiders. Muzzle flashes shot up at the bird, but the pot shots had no hope of hitting.
The bird slowed, and locked into it’s docking bay. They had more than the six vertibirds with them. Six more were being built as the airport was cleared, cleaned, and fortified. It was a tight operation from what Jon saw. Nearly professional, if their people weren’t assholes. Though that could be because this is the best of the best. They would be on an expedition personally lead by an Elder this far from their territory. The rest of the Brotherhood could be wildly different. Worse, or even better.
Jon and nick walked up with the Paladin in front. One guard challenged, “Halt. What is that synth doing here.”
“It is, and I quote, a temporary special envoy and adjunct to the Military Governor of the SCPG. It is here at the Elder’s allowance. They both will be under my personal escort.”
The guard took a moment to confirm on internal comms. Jon was impressed. He guessed they would be professional descending from the army, and having motivated recruits as the superpower of the Capital Wasteland that defeated the Enclave. If they built a ship like he was walking though, they had to be good. Peace was paramount to secure with them at the moment.
Eldar Maxson was giving a speech to his flag officers on his command deck, actually below them beside the command map set deeper into the floor. There were two levels, steps, with desks, terminals, and mainframes circling around nerve center.
“Bothers and Sisters. The road behind had been fraught with difficulty. Each and every one of you had surpassed my exceptions by rapidly facilitating our arrival in the Commonwealth. You have accomplished this amazing feat without a hint of purpose or direction, and most impressively without question.”
Jon huffed, but quietly. If he hadn’t questioned orders, he wouldn't be the MG of the SCPG. He would be someone else. Dead or fleeing, like them. He wasn't as impressed at doing it without question, but he was impressed with the feat, and charisma leaking from the young Elder. It would quickly descend into ideology, and probably finger pointing. Men like him were predictable. Having Nick is a complete propaganda coup for him, and he fully understood why it was agreed too. Maxson still thought he was in control here. Jon would make demands, and he would have nearly no choice but to acquiesce lest he wanted problems he couldn’t afford.
“Now that the ship is in position, our situation improving, our fortifications springing from the dead ground,” Arrogant indeed.
“It is time to reveal our true purpose here.” Anyone with half a brain knew.
“Beneath the Commonwealth, there is a cancer. Known as the Institute. A malignant growth that needs cut before it infects the surface. They're are experimenting with dangerous technology that could prove to be the world’s undoing for the second time in recent history.” The Experiment was over, and practical applications were well under way.
“The Institute have created a weapon that transcends even the destructive nature of the atom bomb.” Here comes the finger.
“They call their creation the synth, a robotic abomination of technology that is free-thinking, and masquerades as a human being.” The finger pointed.
The officers turned around gasped when the finally noticed their enemy standing right behind him. Jon grinned at the Elder, and while his expression was still serious, a small grin replied. Nick did not look happy.
Maxson continued, “The notion that a machine could be granted free will is not only offensive, but horribly dangerous. And like the atom, if it isn’t harnessed properly, it will render us extinct as a species!”
“No!”
“Never!” Some shouts echoed around.
“I am not prepared to allow the Institute to continue this line of experimentation. Therefore the Institute and their synths are considered enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel, and should be dealt with swiftly and without mercy. This campaign will be costly, and many lives will be lost. But in the end, we will be saving humankind from its own worst enemy…itself.”
And of course they all clapped and cheered as Jon eyed Maxson, and he returned it. One asked, “What about that synth?”
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Maxson looked proudly to who asked, “This one will be given a special allowance. So you may see your enemy up close. It only only because of the General you are functional, synth. Dismissed. I must conduct these...diplomatic discussions.”
Jon said, “Oh I don’t think that's necessary just yet. Special envoy Detective Valentine, would you like to respond to any of that trite?”
There were hard looks of offense all around, but Maxson kept his eye, as did Jon in the staring contest. Nick sauntered up though the crowd, taking a central position in the inset command deck. He at least looked impressed with what he saw.
Nick said, “You said the Institute gives their machines free will. Or something like that. My question is, what free will? Where? When? You see, back before the bombs some crusty detective volunteered for a brain scan at the CIT, no doubt the very same as the Institute haunting these wastes. Why? I don’t know. Maybe one day I will, maybe one day I’ll stumble across him as a ghoul so I can sock him in the jaw for causing me all the pain.”
Nick pulled a smoke and lit it. Some looked like they would shoot, and smoking certainly isn't allowed on the command deck, but Maxson gave a hand. By Jon’s eye it seemed he was at least willing to hear others out. That boded well. Jon lit his own smoke to more offended looks. They weren't in control here. Maxson and Jon were, Jon more so with the home field advantage.
“My first memory that wasn't a blur was waking up in a trash heap. It’s either pre-war bits that come to me off and on, or bits from the loving care the institute gave me. A cold room. Nothing to do. No one to talk to. Hours, weeks, months, years of them just watching, I don’t know. Then just thrown out with the rest of the trash. I don’t wake up in the wastes. Nick Valentine, the pre-war cop does. With plastic for a face, metal for bones, gears and sprockets for eyes. You think he wasn't in there pal? That the man he was wasn't goddamned scared! Hateful! Wanting revenge for whoever did this to him and left him in a wasteland! Do not, do, not, just lump me in with those bastards. I guarantee I got more of a grudge than you do. I guarantee any synth out there does. Maybe remember that when you decide who your enemies are. That's all I got to say.”
Maxson gave a moment, then calmly said, “Dismissed.”
Jon sauntered up himself, and the crowd was forced to part thanks to Danse being on the ball. He stood at attention when he stopped. Maxson nodded to him and said, “You have given me something to think about, synth, but do not think you have convinced me. As for you, General, if the reports I got about you came from anyone else I would have them remanded to mental evaluation and forced leave.”
He cared deeply about his people, like Jon was just beginning to on a level further than than what they could do for him. And of course his most trusted soldier was a synth. He would have a lot to think about at some point.
Jon said, “Yeah. Genetic super soldier, killed hundreds like me, their auxiliaries by the thousands. Don’t fuck with me, and I wont fuck with you. That's how this works right now. At least since two of your men tried to raid one of my farms. So now I’m going to fuck with you.”
Danse began making ready, and even Maxson tensed. Jon causally looked around the map in front of him, committing it to memory. He found just what he wanted. A blue dry erase meant for the glass display, brand new. Of course they would have real manufacturing if they could make the Prydwen, The Paladin and Eldar relaxed their tense.
Jon first outlined the North-West Line, including Lexington. Then he extended his outline along a couple lakes, including the slog, Saugus, Finch Farm, but leaving the southern half of the peninsula. Claiming that far east was a bit of a bluff, but he stopped at the freeway, and left the land to the coast. He would get to those places eventually, now that he was in the area.
His line arced up over the sat array, County Crossing, the National Guard Training Yard, and made it’s way to the bridge. It followed the coast until it wrapped around Bunker Hill, the Constitution, and continued back up the freeway, leaving the entirety of Cambridge. It went around the west side of Cambridge, along the side of Boston, and again following a freeway the rest of the way east. Once it got to the edge of the map, along the freeway, it shot back up to Sanctuary.
Before Maxson could scoff, Jon interceded it, “You’re going to say I can’t secure all this. And you would be right, currently. But many of these settlements are in my network. The SCPG. This is my territory, and I will also be enforcing historic claims on the Castle and the surrounding peninsulas, as well as Quincy. I will very quickly secure all this.”
Maxon said, “You’re supremely confident.”
Jon smiled, “Yeah. As many bodies as I’ve dropped? You would be too. Most recently Kellogg.”
Nick added his input, “The fight lasted 23 seconds exactly before Kellogg got stuck in the liver. Most of it was the General being courteous after a nasty rib shot. He also out drew the man, and shot the gun out of his hand from the hip.”
Maxson looked to Danse, “One of the deadliest men to walk the wastes according to local sources, sir. The Institute’s main mercenary contact on the surface.”
“I concur. Until he came along.”
Maxson at least gave a small nod before saying, “And why all this boast. You know what I think about you.”
Jon smiled, “A monument to humanities sins? Their lack of restraint, specifically of one man that precipitated 30 million dead and counting? Yes. But I think honesty is usually the best policy, so that’s what I’m going with. I am General Jon Noonien-Singh, Commonwealth Minutemen, Military Governor of the SCPG, Augment. I will continue what General Cho started and go beyond. Whether you like it or not.”
Maxson asked, “And if you don’t walk out of here alive? You have taken one big risk. I will admit I respect the boldness, you what you are, the synth.”
Then he would love this, “I and my Special Envoy are walking out of here alive. The question is, are you. Your boys may, may, get us in a rush, but not before I canoe your fucking head.” he always wanted to say that.
Maxson started to chuckle, then gave a moment to laugh. Jon matched the chuckle. He could smell the adrenaline leaking from Danse, even though the armor. Poor guy, Jon thought. He said, “But it doesn’t have to be that way. A war would ensure our mutual destruction.”
“Yes, your cold hand would quote, welcome us into that grave.”
Jon nodded, “Yeah. I think you're bullies. Danse here is a credit to the Brotherhood, but even he met me rudely because of my Pip-Boy, after running towards his distress call I received on it. Then two of your boys tried to raid one of my farms, that feeds a functioning Vault, you see. Proud citizens of the SCPG, even the bots. Would you like it if that happened to you and yours?”
“It wouldn’t.” Maxson said with spite.
“It didn’t, but it’s called empathy. Look it up.”
“I would not.”
Jon smiled warmly with a nod. Maxson asked Danse, “This happened?”
Danse broke disciple a moment to shift, “My orders were clear, sir. Inform them our agreement needed renegotiated. Nothing about demanding food. I expected to speak with the General about it.”
“The bots would pass the message, then you would arrive to talk trade on more friendly terms.”
“Yes sir, that was my intent. My orders were functionally disobeyed, leading to this diplomatic incident. They were reprimanded.”
Maxson looked to Jon, “And is this issue settled?”
Jon said, “Now that we’re speaking, yes. The reprimand was sufficient, and that particular matter is settled. But you will not just take food from people like you have a right to it. This isn’t the Capital were you could reasonably justify taxing your populous. Taxes are my prerogative, and I do not tax food.”
Maxson said, “Alright. As you heard, we are willing to trade. I see settlements here not in these borders. Is there any implication there?”
Jon grimaced and though about it, “I can’t stop you. If you say, upgrade farms and repair machinery in exchange for output, or pay caps, I wont need to stop you. The Lyons are good in my book, so I’m willing to entertain quasi occupation of my territory by their chapter. If this was a western chapter, diplomacy would be conducted by other means.”
Maxson grimaced for his own reasons at the mentioned of the Lyons name. Then he nearly spit, “Isolationist cults. Soul forged in steel, what the hell does that even mean. They’ll never truly carry out the mission of the Brotherhood, as Elder Lyons failed to do in his own way. I know the fools only made me Elder because of my name. That and killing a death claw with a combat knife at 13.” He ended with a shark grin.
Jon scoffed, but grinned and looked at the Elder with a bit more respect. He believed it from the look of his left eye. Jon said, “Fair enough. You’re obviously self aware, and care about living up to the legacy. A lot of people in your position would think the name is enough. I just wouldn't expect to permanently keep what you build up. The whole Commonwealth is SCPG. You're here to fight an enemy, and we have that enemy in common. But people don’t generally like an occupying force overstaying their welcome. People will have a choice, and I think they’ll choose their Minutemen.”
“Not you specifically?”
“My goals are beyond the Commonwealth, at the risk of true arrogance.”
“Yes. Space. You said you would share if we asked nicely.”
Jon nodded, urging the man to continue. He said, “My scribes would more than capable of analyzing the rocket, and it’s data. Perhaps they could aid the SCPG in that endeavor.”
Jon huffed with a smile. It was polite at least, “I’m sure they could. You may send a team. One team, and I’ll have to put my own team together. Depending on how future cooperation efforts go, we can negotiate permanent stations. As for our enemy, you see Cambridge is well and truly unclaimed.”
Maxon said, “Yes. I believe you are right...Special Envoy. Your nature is proof of it. The CIT is the Institute. They're under there.”
Nick nodded, being at least acknowledged in a proper way. Jon was satisfied that the Elder is indeed a reasonable man, for now at least. He said, “According to the intel we found, they use a matter transporter system.”
Maxson said, “That would certainly explain the burst signals. And how they seem to appear and disappear anywhere they please.”
Jon said, “Here’s my proposal. You focus on Cambridge, where we know they live. You also have the whole central commonwealth to operate, with plenty of infrastructure to analyze if nothing else.”
Maxson responded, “Infrastructure that you ultimately claim.”
Jon grinned, “Yes, you wont keep an entire city and the farmland to it’s east However as you heard, I am willing to negotiate permanent stations. A base, a local chapter, a common occurrence between allies.” He outlined the National Guard Training Yard, and the police station.
Maxson squinted, and seriously considered the matter. He personally didn’t want to stay in the Commonwealth forever, and any long term plan for a permanent presence was shot when a stable government simply rose from the ashes overnight. One heavily armed by the forward reports of the brand new 308 rifle he carried. No plan survives contact with the enemy. That was a Codex lesson predating the bombs, and the Brotherhood.
But the mutant didn’t have to be an enemy. He too was self aware, and had no reason to lie about things when he could kick an invisible charging courser clean though. Kill Kellogg. The ponderous Elder would also still think more on the synth question. The one standing in front of him was particularly animate, and the man he was based on was victimized in Maxson’s eyes. Perhaps the synth was too.
The Lyons were ultimately more than good in his book, at least for some of their ideals. Even if they got in the way of the true mission. He always stopped for at least a moment to think on the morality of his actions, if what he was doing was right, just. He often thought, hopped, that his ancestor had the same thoughts when he founded the order. He was certainly not like the irrational men that came after, nearly worshiping at the feet of his descendant. There was a reason some of the Western Chapters had died, and perhaps they deserved it.
He asked, “What will you be doing?”
Jon said, “While my Minutemen secure this territory and create a force capable of meeting the Institute in battle, I will be working the problem from the front. I have a lead, but I’m not ready to pursue it yet. The parties involved have been in the wind for a hot minute, and will wait a little longer. The Institute’s guy on the surface is dead. They wont be able to pursue it either.”
Maxson grimaced, “Our situation is improving, but still not ideal. We can’t either just yet. What is the lead, and the reason for your personal delay?”
Jon smiled, “As for the lead, state secret, for now. And the delay, I need my armor supped up, as well as other matters of state to handle. In four days time I will be meeting Jake Evans at Charles View Amphitheater. We will be raiding the local Vault Tech HQ for information relating to pre-war technology. It’s called an ASAM, Advanced Survey and Activity Monitoring.”
Maxson looked to Danse, and he shook his head. A scribe might know, but he needed the Paladin as his Adjunct. He’s the only one that stood any chance. Maxson said, “I am impressed. I’ve never heard of an ASAM.”
Jon grinned, “I’m pretty sure it was developed locally, and never got distributed before the bombs. My man Jake stumbled onto them first. I guarantee they’ll help you get food production going, monitor water quality as well. They also act as pass though for shop and press templates. You can design one on the configuration software, and send it thought the device. No need for nonexistent editing programs.”
Maxon only reaction was a tense of his bearded jaw, only seen by a synth and super soldier. The situation was untenable, and peace was now paramount if it was offered. There was one copy in the Citadel, and it took years to figure out a copy jail-break without also breaking the precious software. It’s what let them build the Prydwen in the first place. No amount of scrap in the wastes could have been put together without the proper machining tools produced in factory presses. It’s what secured the East Coasts power base, being able to manufacture freely, the NCR out west.
That’s how they sprung up over night. It was technology the Brotherhood now had no hope of controlling. Even if he took the two before him out, the rest of the Minutemen, and the Commonwealth would not like the news of what happened to their General. But he could be involved in the investigation.
He accepted the offer, “I take it you intend to invite us on that outing?”
Jon huffed with a smirk, “Yeah. Four days time, Charles View Amphitheater. I share this tech with you, the rocket, you share with us. Not the designs of this place obviously, but how about a factory tune up when Lexington is finally cleared out?”
Maxson thought a moment again, “And why hasn’t it been cleared out yet? This is a lot of territory you haven't actually secured, and you can clear that city by yourself.”
Jon grinned, “The long con, and another point I intended to bring up. There are Gunner outposts here at the bend, the on ramp, and near Sunshine.”
“It was a stalemate. You, the Gunners, the raiders.”
“Good ol’ Mexican standoff. I took the Ration Stockpile here. They marked it a few days later after we took all the loot by night, but not fully manned it. They're slow and ponderous right now. I was using the time to prepare my forces. Prepare them for live fire exercises in Lexington, and storm their posts down the freeway right after so they don’t just take the factory immediately. They would, something like that. Then hold like hell when they respond. Then you arrived and made my day.”
Maxson grinned with near malice, “When you secure your North-West quadrant, they wont be able to respond. Everything else will be daring them to counter attack. Exposing themselves to us.”
Jon returned the grin, “I figured you wouldn't hesitate.”
Maxson said, “They remind me of the Talon Company, especially with the reports I’ve seen. Quincy. They’re both scum. We don’t have the strength for an outright war with a force their size, and the Institute, but you're right. We wouldn't hesitate if the target was favorable. Consider that an agreement in principle, should they try.”
Jon nodded and said, “They’re mercenaries, but they’re positioning like they're ready to explode out and take surrounding territory? Actually take territory near their main HQ, tag a bunker?”
Maxson flinched his eyes, and grimaced, “They’re still out there. Always more rats in their holes.”
Jon nodded, “Who else would be capable of an op like that? Get competent mercs to take non paying jobs? Consider that an agreement in principle.”
Maxson grinned. He genuinely liked this man. He said, “Four days time. Paladin Danse?”
“Sir.”
“You will attend with Gladius.”
“Sir.”
Jon held out his hand and said, “Perfectly acceptable. Now that initial misunderstandings have been rectified, I think we can say our relations are mutually warm. Welcome to the Commonwealth.”
Maxson took it with a diplomatic smile. He didn’t like the agreements, but he didn’t have much choice. His current position was just precarious enough, and there's equally not so. They had reliable food production if nothing else, and their core territory was just far enough away.
He said, “Thank you for meeting here for these talks. They have been productive, and I agree on our mutual relations. Would you like dropped off in any place in particular, General?”
Jon smiled, “Please, Elder. At this bridgehead here, close by. I need to inspect my Navy currently lodged in a bank, and visit Bunker Hill. Then walk the rest to the North before Charles’s view. I’m also willing to offer free passage for the Brotherhood, again as long you don’t be a dick about it. That would of course also apply to me and my Minutemen.”
Maxson visibly kept himself from laughing outright at the ship in the bank. He almost lost it seeing the thing for the first time, and now his counterpart just claimed it as his Navy, “Agreed. Paladin, escort the guests, and call a flag meeting.”
“So soon, sir?”
The room chucked, even Nick, as they they walked out to the flight deck for other adventures.