Sara led John through the market, cutting down a narrow side street. Echoing with the clang of hammers, the smell of burning in the air. It opened up into a large square. In the centre a busy forge made from stone, automated bellows forcing in air. Sweating men and women beating hot metal into shape against anvils.

Around the forge were stalls selling all manner of weapons. Swords, shields, spears, bows. Weapons of the old, old, old world. Now remade, redesigned. All carved with an ornate letter A crested with curls and flourishes.

“Is this where Lady Avalon lives?” John remembered the story of a settlement that had a raider problem, Sara nodded. John hoped she’d be here, realising he’d last seen her in a room filled with something apparently called staballoy. She'd probably still be there.

The first thing he bought was a razor. Cutthroat like Val’s, folding into a flat handle. He hadn’t shaved in over a month, and he’d need to learn to do it himself. Plus Sara picked it out. The flattest of them all, easily hidden, easily missed in a search.

Sara picked up a bow, curved black steel, string wound through cogs to increase the power. John thought about the vicious tribes that used simple bows and horses to conquer great swathes of land. If they’d had this bow they’d probably still be in charge today.

Sara asked the price and upon hearing two thousand caps, which did include a dozen arrows in a fine quiver, set to bartering. Getting John to pull the bow taught. Complaining about this or that, finding fault with broad headed arrows, driving the price down.

Her version of throwing in a bottle of whiskey was to casually ask John if he thought the elder would like it. That worked almost as well. Getting the price down to fifteen hundred with another dozen arrows thrown in.

“What do you need a bow for?” John asked, as they moved on to the next stall.

“I’m sorry, is the man with a magic hammer questioning my purchase?” Sara laughed. “It’s for hunting Radstag, we ate some a week back, remember?” John did, a thick cut slab of grilled meat Styx prepared over a campfire. Tough, but with a rich taste. “I might even teach you how to use it, there'll be no pre-war pouches for you living the wastrel life.” Wastrel wasn’t exactly an insult.

The Brotherhood saw the people who lived out here not as less than exactly, but far from equal. And Sara knew how much he liked the self-heating food.

They found Val at a nearby bar, sat outside, practically drooling over her new friend. A blacksmith, shirtless, hammering away at metal. Thick black hair and very good looking. He reminded John of his childhood friend Dutch, he had a similar effect on women. After one ‘pounding’ joke too many he left them and took a lap of the Iron Square alone. Bringing the delicious cocktail Val bought him along.

He walked the outer square. Looking at the different styles of crafting, various maker’s marks. Not exactly the best, yet far from shoddy. He listened as farmers made requests for tools, custom made spare parts. Sketching simple diagrams, arguing about the cost.

Then a row of three stalls caught his eye. Stocked with guns, most of which he’d seen before, which kept the unearned knowledge quiet.

He picked up a Chinese assault rifle, the same as his, only this had been well customised. The folding stock extended to form a foregrip while not in use. A compensator fitted to the muzzle. With a short pre-war scope on top, and an enclosed glass sight with a red dot on top of that.

John used every trick he knew to get the trader to sell him just the modifications, but he wouldn’t budge. John got the feeling the trader didn’t understand the mods came off easily.

Fortunately, he ran into one of the grateful sisters he’d met the night before who took him to her partner’s stall. Laid out with all manner of modified weaponry, and introduced him as Millie’s friend.

“Jack, Jack Victor, I’m married.” John felt pleased with his delivery of the cover name, even though it wasn’t needed. While disappointed with himself for blurting out the irrelevant detail.

“Manny, welcome to Manny Mods. Is that a nineteen eleven, can I see?” The trader pointed to the rose carved pistol. John drew it, ejected the mag and cleared the chamber. Catching the spinning bullet in mid-air, like Styx taught him.

“That’s a nice piece.” People always complimented his pistol, or rather Robco’s work on it. “Not a lot I can do with this, but I can put a twenty mil rail on it, no charge.” John saw the traders idea, fitting the pistol with a mount meant he was more likely to buy an attachment. He agreed and paid close attention while the trader worked.

John watched him cutting a rail section by hand, rubbing the edge smooth with grit paper. Then mounting it just ahead of the trigger guard. Manny started showing him a selection of attachments. Lights, laser sights, and a custom attachment that fired a single shotgun shell, for emergencies.

John picked out an extended pistol mag, a light, a laser sight, and the underbarrel shotgun tube. Manny sold him two lengths of rail, not something he normally did, only because he was a friend of Millie’s. Along with a pair of red dot sights, and a short range scope. Six hundred caps all in, knocked down to four. John paid him gladly, shaking his hand then went to find Sara. Stopping only to buy a coil of synthetic cord he didn’t really need.

Sara’s words rang in his ears constantly, we keep places like this safe. He thought about the rescue the day before, and the previous mission that saved the young couple. Not to mention two more traders that could be anyone here.

He’d done that, his team, his friends. Small victories in a world where that meant everything to some people, and they were a single unit. How could the Brotherhood be anything but a force for good in this world. John thought that maybe his older, wiser friend didn’t know everything after all.

As he approached the table Sara and Val hid something from him, sliding it from view.

“What did you get?” Sara asked, John showed her. Offering her a length of the rail she didn’t want. And the shotgun attachment for his pistol she deemed impractical, a cutting blow from her. Finally showing her the cord to listen to her false complaints about the hours her father spent teaching her knots.

He showed Val the razor, she seemed impressed, and wrote him a list of other things to pick up. Then she left, making a joke about her new friend needing a good wash that made Sara laugh, while John felt relieved he wasn’t the focus of her flirting.

“I got you something, close your eyes.” Sara seemed giddy.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Close your eyes, don’t make me order you.” John did, Sara turned his palms upwards, placing something in them, something long. “Open.” John looked down to see a sheathed sword. Slightly curved, narrow, handle ornately wrapped. The sheath lacquered and polished to high sheen.

“That’s a Ronin sword right, what’s it called?”

“A Katana.”

“Yeah that’s it. Val’s latest squeeze made it last week, brought it over to impress her and within a minute she charmed him into giving it to her.” John had seen Val’s charms up close, and was surprised the blacksmith lasted a full minute.

“It’s more a showpiece than a weapon. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” She gestured to her pistol, its own origin similar in nature, “And I got it engraved.” John gripped the handle, drawing the shining blade just a few inches. It looked awfully sharp for a showpiece. In fine letters, engraved at the base of the blade, his call sign. Hardly as impressive as Excalibur, yet a sword that bore his given name nevertheless.

“Thank you.”

“Two things, first give me a cap.” John set the sword down, then slid a single cap over the table. Sara held it up as she spoke, “Never give someone a blade for free, lest it cut the friendship, it’s a tradition.”

“And the second thing?”

“You have to promise me you’re not going to kill yourself like those thirty seven idiots you love so much.”

“Forty seven, and they weren’t idiots, they had no choice.” John stopped, seeing that Sara baited him. She understood honour and duty better than he did.

“Did you get something nice for your girl?” Sara asked.

“I got her a book.” He picked up a book on computing he thought she’d like, as well as snagging her a small pistol a few weeks back.

“You don’t know shit about women do you John. Come on.”

Sara led him round the clothing stalls. Eventually picking out a flower patterned head scarf, made of some of the softest fabric he’d ever felt. Sara talked him into paying extra to get it stitched with a flower, matching the one on his pistol. Even if Rosie didn’t forgive him, he thought this would help her adjust to the touch of the rough clothes. And she’d think of him.

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They took another full lap of the markets. Stopping to buy some aluminium conduit pipe and a pair of combat shotguns with extra magazines. John previously ignored them, due to the cumbersome design of a drum mag set too far forward. Sara mildly reprimanded him, then picked out enough junk to make what she called an auto loader.

John bought a music holo, mainly because he saw Valkyrie’s name on it. He showed Sara who laughed, and gently pointed out that the song was over four hundred years old. Although she did say Val would like it, and that was the last of his counterfeit caps. Leaving the two thousand real caps untouched.

John sat with Sara for a few drinks while watching the sunset over green fields from the roof of The Sandcastle. The highest building in town. They headed to Frank and Beverly’s for dinner, finding Styx and Acheron along the way.

Joining them were three guests of the halfway house. Freed people, being taught to live like everyone else. The older man seemed better adjusted, although still quiet with a nervous manner. Two teenagers, both of them still bruised, red marks around their necks. Looking shocked just to be seated at the table, being served by the woman who took them in.

Everybody ate together. Steaks Frank cooked in a pan to individual liking. John had his rare, not that he knew what that meant, he just said that because Frank hinted he should. As always, the former slave turned second in command was right. Pink in the middle, dripping with juices, it was enough to forget the disgusting creature it came from.

Sara told the mole rat story, complete with her impression of John, bringing laughter from everyone. Val professed her undying love for the man she’d met yesterday, then agreed with Sara that she’d be bored of him in a matter of hours. All while Beverly gently coached the freed people sat around her.

John watched them, trying not to stare, seeing the faces of the teenagers as they ate like everyone else. He could see the joy it brought them to be seated at the table, but he also saw the nervousness as people got up to walk past them. Like they expected a slap. He recognised so much of himself in them from that first night at Robco’s Rest.

Beverly saw him looking, she didn’t seem to mind. She almost asked him something without speaking, he nodded, willing to do whatever she asked.

“You know John here is a freed man too, isn’t that right John?”

“Yeah that’s right.”

“How…” The teenage girl started to ask something but stopped.

“It’s ok, ask, if I can answer I will.” John looked at Sara who gave him a nod as she poured fresh shots of vodka and handed them out.

“How long were you a…” The teenage girl couldn’t say the word slave.

“My whole life, up until a few months ago.” The teenagers looked shocked, so did Beverly.

“You were a slave your whole life and now you’re a knight?” This time the teenage boy asked.

“I’m not a knight.”

“Not yet.” Frank boosted his confidence, as usual.

“Plus I had excellent instructors, and better friends.” John didn’t mention the device on his arm. Despite its moments, he’d got himself here.

“I’ll drink to that.” Sara made sure everyone had a shot, John looked her in the eye, thanking her for the change of subject.

“Excellent instructors and better friends.”

After dinner Beverly helped the freed people clear the table. Not because they had to, more that it felt familiar to them. The calming power of routine. The pleasure of a menial task they could do without being forced, or beaten.

The team sat outside. John admired his handiwork from the morning. The wet earth wall, now whitewashed and drying. He could tell his work from the rest, not as smooth, inconsistent thickness. Although not cracked or redone so Frank must have been happy with it.

Sara brought out the bow and sword, turned archery practice into a drinking game that fell apart almost instantly. Leaving John the only one unable to hit the target, and therefore the only one drinking.

Val, Styx, and Acheron left. Leaving Frank unable to resist putting John through his paces with the bow and sword. Frank seemed to think the blade better than a mere showpiece, which felt good enough for John. He and Sara stayed for another drink, leaving Frank and Beverly sat outside and waving to the teenagers as they headed back into town.

John and Sara walked casually through the quiet Farmborough. Stopping for a few more drinks at various places before returning to their room above it all. Finding the bar restocked. Sara put on some music, John poured the drinks, and they read the comic books. Thoughts of Vaults and power armour very far away.

John slept in longer than ever before, after Sara forced him to set his alarm for ten. They packed up, said goodbye to the still very grateful owners, who sent them off with a basket of food. The unit regrouped at the gate, joined by the now single again Valkyrie. They followed the river upstream through the wide open spaces, at a leisurely pace.

No one revealed their destination to John, until they reached a huge pool of water, a lake. John had never seen anything like it. Shimmering water, edged with trees, reflecting the sun back up into the endless blue. He sent a mapping pulse right there and then, hoping to bring Rosie here.

It wasn’t exactly the ocean. Yet it lapped at the shore like the waves he’d only read about. Making a pleasing sound that drove the ever present, deafening silence back.

Styx and Acheron, named for the hellish river they grew up on, clearly missed the water. Stripping down almost immediately, eager to jump in.

“Rad-X.” That was the only time John heard Paladin Maxwell since arriving. She handed out the pre-emptive anti radiation tablets, giving one to John. Which he realised meant she expected him to go in the water.

“Shouldn’t someone stay on watch?” John tried to appeal to her practical nature.

“Yeah Val and I will, don’t want you boys getting too worked up.” John looked over Sara’s shoulder as Styx and Acheron ran into the water, wearing only their boxer shorts. Laughing with delight as they splashed through the shallows. They almost dove in head first, disappearing under and reappearing a moment later. Exhilarated, shouting in joy.

Sara leant in closer to him. “Look, if we have to ditch in water, you need to know how to swim. It could save your life, it might save one of our lives.” John knew she was right, undone by the same practical nature he tried to use. “Besides, it’s fun.”

John stripped down to his boxers, walking beside Frank into the lake. The pipboy Geiger counter clicking, nowhere near enough to cause concern. Not with a dose of Rad-X anyway.

John tried not to look at the scars all over Frank. Deep cuts caused in the name of entertainment for cruel masters, long healed. John didn’t have a single scar, not even on his hands, despite being told he would have on more than one occasion. The impact protection panes sewn under tear resistant fabric in the vault-suit protecting the rest of him.

“Just relax John.” Frank taught him things far more difficult than this he thought to himself as the cold water, no colder than the showers in the Vault, reached his waist. “Now lean back, lift your legs, then kick and move your arms.” John did, sinking like a rock. He panicked as the water engulfed him, then stood upright, relieved to be in only four feet of water. “Odd sensation isn’t it.” The brief seconds he spent submerged reminded him of the nightmare, dreamlike state. Compared to that, this seemed tame.

John tried again, determined to impress his instructor and friend. This time he kicked harder, forcing his arms to push against the water. Propelling him a few feet backwards while he stared into the endless blue above.

“Better, keep it going.” Well used to trusting Frank’s voice, John kicked and pushed. Splashing through the water, stopping after a minute. Standing in the shallows to genuine applause from the rock face above.

John looked up and watched as Styx leapt head first, without fear or hesitation. Hitting the water with barely a splash and popping up moments later to watch Acheron make the same dive. Arguing about who had the better form.

Within an hour John could swim, Sara, as usual, was right, he enjoyed it. Frank taught him to tread water, staying afloat when out of his depth. Not an unfamiliar feeling to the man who only saw the sun less than three months ago, although not usually this literal.

He learnt to swim on his back, his front, how to dive under, retrieving his knife from the lakebed as instructed. Frank trusted him enough to go limp in the water. Showing John how to cradle someone’s head with one arm while pulling them ashore with the other. If he could move Frank’s weight, anyone else in the unit would be easy.

He practised chest compressions combined with mouth to mouth resuscitation. Thankfully not having to make contact. And being able to practise on Frank despite Val’s over enthusiastic volunteering.

“I think you’re ready to try a dive.” If anyone but Acheron said that John might have hesitated. But he knew that the unit’s designated sniper rarely said anything he didn’t mean.

Flying as Valkyrie’s door gunner, or as her left stick, eradicated John’s fear of heights months ago. Yet he felt it echo as he stood above deep water, looking down into the shimmering surface.

“Run, jump, cross your arms and hold your nose, like this.” Acheron showed him what to do, then stepped back. His precise instructions given without inflection, his normality filling John with confidence. “Don’t think, go.”

John bolted, his bare feet toughened by long marches propelling him to the edge, then he leapt. Limbs flailing as he fell. Remembering his instructions at the last second and slicing into the water like his knife. The pain of the impact dulled by sheer elation as he drove himself up to the surface. Breathing deeply and cheering loudly.

He dove three more times, feet first in rapid succession. Each time getting better, holding his limbs rigid as he dropped. Acheron convinced him to try head first, it didn’t take a lot. John saw why they loved it. The primal terror of failing mixed with the rapid change from air to water had an addictive quality.

The six of them spent the afternoon by the lakeside. Eating fresh sandwiches from the basket. Drinking cold vodka, submerged since they arrived thanks to Sara’s practical nature. Frank regaling Val with the events from the mould factory. Her punching John in the arm the same way Sara did as she learned of his mace throw.

Sara complained about the rope burns she still had from the Recon assisted climb to the roof. Which by all accounts involved her being hauled up so fast she basically sprinted up a vertical wall.

They spent hours laughing, joking, bonding. Forging links in the chains of brotherhood. Till on the wind they heard the unmistakable sound of twin, triple rotor engines. Coming to take them back to their duty all too soon.

John recognised the pilot and the Vertibird as they landed, the bird Val flew. Outfitted with speakers he connected the pipboy to map the terrain below, flown by Anubis. Short, thin, a fiercely competitive man whose drive pushed others around him. And, as Val liked to remind him any chance she got, the second best pilot in Excalibur Outpost.

He joined them for one last, lake cooled vodka as they loaded up. Complaining about the near constant cargo runs, ferrying men and materiel. Most of it metal blocks, with nothing exciting happening and too much weight to fly in a manner other than slow.

The mood fell as they readied to dust off. John handed Val the four pin, and scrolled to the song title that shared her name. It brightened her mood, and everybody else’s. Music unlike anything John heard before blasted from the speakers attached to the pre-war flying machine.

No singing, instead rising blasts of rhythmic sound. Swelling to an ear splitting crescendo of thunderous notes following the driving rhythm.

Unsurprisingly for a piece of four hundred year old music, everyone seemed to know it, joining with shouts in time to music. Their spirits lifted, their bodies and minds relaxed, recharged. Ready to armour up and head out again, searching for any sign of a Vault.