Park Street Station, Boston

The trip to Boston Common had been a long one. Detours due to the reclamation crews, two radstorms, a swarm of feral ghouls making an appearance out of the sewers and Army checkpoints the whole way. Coming down from USAF Station Olivia had taken two days longer than anticipated.

Cait scratched at herself without thinking, drawing metal-on-metal screeching before she realised what she was doing.

Being unable to deal with an itch was frustrating, so much so that it made her tired. Though they had stopped at Starlight and Greygarden on the way down, she felt the old sense of malaise creeping back, this time thankfully without the desire to drown it with chems..

It was the power armour. It was always too warm in the damn things, except at the height of winter when temperatures dropped to nasty lows. A small price to pay for the protection it gave, not to mention the strength to swing the Shishkebab around. Her prized weapon, a trophy taken from Saugus.

It was almost over. Soon, she'd have the chance to get out of the damn suit, out of the orange bodyglove she had been issued with, into a shower in the vault. Hopefully, "Blue's" shower, where none of the sheltered Brotherhood fuckwits could ogle her. Using his personal spaces as hers never bothered him.

All Cait needed to do now was negotiate the fucking labyrinth that was Park Street Station. It had her blood boiling in her veins already. Some operation was afoot somewhere, as Brotherhood and Continental Army troops milled about aimlessly. Probably waiting for their Vertibirds to land on the Common above before flying off to reinforce some part of the Western front. The NukaWorld rebels were giving it another shot even as she had left Olivia.

Naturally, no one was getting the hell out of the way, not even for the X-01 painted jet black with a giant red maw painted on the helmet. She was stuck at the bottom of the first flight of stairs with the escortee, unable to move. Speaking of which...

"What's going on?" asked the scribe from the side, directing the question at Cait.

Haylen was alright, but a little bit thick sometimes. Escorting her around the Commonwealth had its moments. Like pulling her away from a near-detonation of a car's reactor, or shooting up an Assaultron that had caught her trying to relieve herself.

"What's it look like?" Cait replied, her voice booming out of the speakers, "They're going to help. Probably up at the ol' One-Eleven Line."

Big Man's old vault was a fortress, these days. And Sanctuary was a lot more fun; a garrison town. Cait wished she was there. Good fighting against idiots looking to lose their lives, followed by good drinking with idiots looking to lose their money.

The sound of her voice out of the speakers had some of the soldiers and scribes moving aside, but not enough of them.

"Ah," Haylen replied absent-mindedly, "But if they're like this, we can't get through."

"I noticed," Cait said, through her teeth, "I wonder if Nate would mind if I put a few shells into the ceiling to wake these fucking eejits up?" She pat the side of the huge semiautomatic shotgun hanging from her hip.

"The Sentinel absolutely would mind!" Haylen answered quickly, "And the knights might not wait to hear what his opinion is!"

"Ah, I could take them," Cait sniffed, looking at the six others in power armour scattered around, "I've got a better fashion sense. They're not wearing enough to dance with me."

Haylen opened her mouth to ask clarification on this, which Cait was very willing to give, but someone in the crowd in front of them cleared their throat. A Knight-Sergeant in combat armour, the sword and cogwheel of the Brotherhood of Steel itched on the chest-plate in faux-gold. His entire head was covered with a combat helmet and facial gas-mask.

"Knight-Captain Cait, Senior Scribe Haylen," the man said in a superior tone, evident even through the mask, "You are late."

He was entirely unfamiliar, but his tone was the opposite; that of someone looking down his nose. A prick, in other words.

"Who the fuck are you?" Cait replied immediately, "Where's Hynes?"

The head in the helmet and gas-mask tilted slightly, as if to say 'Who the fuck do you think you are' before returning to an upright position.

"Transferred on rotation to the Capital Wasteland," the man said, "I am his replacement, Knight-Captain Walsh. The Elder's eyes and ears."

Cait growled a string of curses. Maxson was flexing his muscle, waving his rank around like it was a replacement for being big down where it counts.

"Nobody tells me anything," she said to Haylen, "Didn't I tell ya?"

"I only arrived yesterday," Walsh said, acidic in the extreme, "The Sentinel is this way."

The man turned on the spot, as if on a parade ground, and marched through the crowd like it wasn't there. The squads all parted at once, faces aghast at the sight of him.

He had a reputation, Cait realised, and this didn't bode well for her. She waved Haylen on ahead to follow first, knowing that the temptation to squash him under a power-armoured heel would be too overwhelming otherwise. Better to get the inevitable over with early.

The huge metal door of Vault 114 lay closed. Its guards waved their greetings to Cait and Haylen, and ignored the man leading them.

The new Knight-Captain climbed the stairs and slapped the controls of the door. Cait noticed that he didn't have a Pip-Boy, and groaned. More waiting. At least Hynes used to be allowed to open the door on his own.

After a few minutes, a voice came out of the control panel.

"Please wait one moment!" it said, in a sing-song French accent, "Okay... Now, who is at the door?"

Walsh pushed down the talk button on the panel with more force than was required.

"Knight-Captains Walsh and Cait, Senior Scribe Haylen," he stated sharply, "Requesting access to Vault 114."

"Knight-Captain Cait and Senior Scribe Haylen may enter at once," the voice said, without any anger, "Knight-Captain Walsh, you must await authorisation from the Sentinel. Please return to the station to receive this. Merci."

Walsh said something inaudible under his mask, and marched back down the stairs and back the way they had come, down the tunnel.

Cait chewed her lip, unable to contain her unease at the man's arrival.

"He's going to be a fuckin' problem," she said to Haylen.

"Probably," the scribe replied, "But not mine."

"Oh jeez, thanks," Cait said, dripping the sarcasm all over her tone, "Very kind of you to leave him to me."

"Scribes don't get noticed," Haylen shrugged.

The door began to screech as it began its opening sequence, pulling back inside the vault and rolling aside, as the walkway moved in to bridge the gap between the platform outside and the vault floor. It was a huge racket, and Cait was glad to be still inside her armour for the moment.

Waiting on the other side was Curie. Who else spoke like a French character from a radio drama? Her short but neat hair never seemed out of place. But then, it had been designed that way. Fuck, even her eyes were perfect ovals.

"Cait, it is good to see you again," the former Miss Nanny chirped, "You are just in time to witness something amazing."

"Are Nate and MacCready getting into a drinking contest again?" Cait asked, "It's been a while."

"No..." Curie replied uncertainly, "And I would not allow such an event to repeat itself."

Cait paid no heed to the health concerns of the synth. "Have to take this straight to Nate." She thumbed an armoured thumb at Haylen. "No time for dinner and a show."

Curie smiled widely. "That is okay, Nathaniel will be watching too. It is a big moment, you see. We finally found a synth body for Edna. Follow me please. Take off that armour first, the scribes will see it is cleaned and repaired. Good as new." The synth pointed at the power-armour station off to the left of the door, where there were already two other X-01 suits with distinctive paintjobs hanging from the small gantries.

With no reason to disobey, Cait stepped over and went into the free space, before activating the exit sequence and pulling herself free from the inside. Her hair was a sweaty mess, but nothing she couldn't fix. She pulled the comb the Atom Cats gave her through the tangle as she walked, joining Haylen and Curie, as the latter picked up a large case.

"It appears you are ready," Curie stated, "Okay, let's go?" She opened the doors ahead and began walking at pace through them.

The way was just as busy as Park Street had been, but instead of soldiers, it was full of scribes instead. Cait knew it was because they just got in the way of the gunmen on the bases, and the gunmen got in the way of their research. Whatever the hell it was.

Haylen waved to people she knew as they went, deflecting questions about where she had been with vagueness like 'up north' and 'near one-eleven'. They tried their best to not make eye contact with Cait, except for those that wanted into her pants. Like the nerds could muster the courage to even talk to her.

Most annoying thing about 114 was the stairs. There were no elevators, and it was a deep vault. It was a god damn joke.

By the time they reached the entrance to the main chamber, Cait felt like her ears would pop, and that she needed to get the Doc to look at her knees again. Curie tapped in a code on yet another panel, allowing them all to step inside.

The main chamber itself was filled with equipment. Memory loungers, terminals, synth diagnostic tools. There weren't many people inside, as expected. Only the highest ranking Brotherhood of Steel personnel were allowed in, or those that Nate trusted.

Cait saw that it was a mixed bag that day. They were all crowded around a certain memory lounger.

Nate himself of course, also in an orange Brotherhood bodyglove.

Dr. Amari and two other scientists she didn't recognise, labcoated to the gills.

Nick, Piper, MacCready and Codsworth, all looking pretty much how they always did. Trenchcoat, red leather jacket, green non-Brotherhood combat armour, chrome.

Was she the only one that had a change of clothes, Cait wondered. Not that Nick or Codsworth needed one. The last two were the guy and the robot from the school in Diamond City, the ones that had gotten married. As she got closer, she saw there was also someone in the lounger. Suddenly, the reason for the whole thing became clear.

"I'm back, my love," Curie said, "I have the equipment. Cait and Haylen have finally arrived."

Nate dropped away from the conversation going on between the scientists and the Diamond City teachers, and came over to the newcomers. He was the same as always really. Dark hair that would be a mop if it wasn't washed, dark eyes, serious brows and a cheeky grin. Cait bit down a little and glanced away. She had no chance against the synth, there was no point staring.

"Got caught up in the radstorms?" Nate asked them.

Cue the eyerolls.

"And your work crews got in the way," Cait replied, "Any chance you could order them to get the hell out of it next time?"

"They're not my work crews, they're Preston's," Nate said calmly, "Only the Army can order them off the roads. We're not the Army."

"Preston's growing too large for his boots if you ask me," MacCready cracked from behind, "You really ought to cut him down to size."

"Privileges of rank," Nate smirked back, "He's the Commander in Chief. I'm not."

"Interesting perspective considering you put him there," Nick commented in his usual gravelly tone, "I wonder if people knew how much he was interfering with Brotherhood operations, would they still believe that he's a puppet?"

"Well, he's still reliant on our help for the war," Nate said, "When we've won it, he won't need us so much and he can step out of my shadow." He rubbed his neck for a moment, before looking at Haylen.

"Scribe Haylen, you're going to have to wait a moment," he said, "I know what I sent you to do is important, but we're in the middle of something."

"I can wait," Haylen replied with unnecessary haste, "Do you want me to step outside or?"

Unsure how to answer that, Nate turned to the others. They glanced among themselves for a little while.

"I guess it's going to get out anyway," Piper thought aloud, "I'm going to write about it. It's not like we can hide it. There's no harm in her staying."

Haylen looked confused, so Nate explained. "We're putting Edna's consciousness into that synth body from that Miss Nanny."

The scribe's eyes widened.

"Just like we did with me," Curie added cheerfully, "I am so glad we can help those synths that had their memory transfers fail."

Or, it was a synth that had refused to cooperate... but no one mentioned that little possibility. Some in the room didn't even know, though Curie very much did. Dr. Amari certainly didn't. She wouldn't be agreeing to help if she did know.

Cait kept her silence. She wasn't Amari's friend. Amari hadn't freed her from addiction. Nate had.

"And Edna deserves it," Nate said, "The work she's done with the kids in Diamond City, it's extremely important. She'll serve the Brotherhood just by continuing the work she has been doing."

Dr. Amari cleared her throat, loudly. "The procedure is ready," she said, "We can begin the transfer."

Cait hung back, as the others huddled around the lounger and the Miss Nanny floating by it. The hugging shit wasn't for her. The robot's husband, Mister Zwicky, was whispering to it and holding one of its pincers. She idly wondered if Nate had been like that with Curie before it all. By the time Cait had met them, Curie was already in a synth body.

"Proctor Binet, begin the data load," Amari stated, "I'll handle cognitive reprocessing."

"Downloading now..." said Binet without emotion, "Interesting data in there. I'm seeing highly advanced emotional detection algorithms. Saved for future study. Seems your Edna is not a normal Miss Nanny, Mister Zwicky. Download complete."

The robot fell to the ground as Binet announced the completion, gently, its mind having anticipated the shutdown.

"Reprocessing now," Amari said, as the lounger hummed with power, "...Done!"

The synth in the seat opened its eyes suddenly, blinking rapidly. It sat up slowly, before opening its mouth.

"I-I can't," it said... in a French accent. Not exactly the same as Curie's, but similar enough.

Cait threw up her arms in annoyance. Great, now there were two of them.

"Your body is trying to get you to breath," Amari soothed, "Stop interfering with it, and you'll be okay."

The rest of the huddle moved in to comfort Edna, and before anyone knew it, she was kissing Zwicky and generally making a scene. It was sickeningly sweet... and Cait felt the grip of jealousy on her throat.

The exception to the general scene of bliss was Haylen. The scribe looked worried, and moved away, back towards Cait. "Maxson is going to be mad," she said, before correcting herself, "He's going to be furious."

"Maxson can go fuck himself," Cait retorted, "He already knew about Curie and didn't complain. He went along with the idea that Valentine is a human trapped in a synth body. Besides, he can't just fly in like he did before. He'll accept it like he did the rest, as long as we keep sending him the good shit from the ruins." Meaning copies of the technical documents and specimens. The number of hours Cait had spent escorting other scribes looking for that sort of thing was something she didn't want reminding of.

Haylen's eyes relaxed. "You're right. It's just I still think Maxson is going to fight us one day."

Cait never got the chance to respond to that.

"Okay, now we'll hear what you have," Nate said from behind, "Head up to my office. I'll be there in a minute."

The Overseer's office was now the Sentinel's personal room... as well as Curie's. Well furnished, it had been filled up with various items you could often see either using regularly. Military fatigues, labcoats, full bookcases, a Pip-Boy here and there, weapons of various kinds. The desk and terminal remained, though the remaining surface of the former was coated with reports. Running a war was a lot of paperwork.

Haylen sat down like a good little soldier. Cait wandered around, looking at things. It had been a while since her last visit. She picked up a plasma rifle and took a look down its sights, wondering where Nate had gotten it. Probably Cricket, that fuckin' scavvy. Always had the best violence tools and never told anyone about her sources. Bitch had to be a ghoul with her skin still on.

It was a while before Nate showed up, with Curie, Nick and the Binet guy in tow. Cait put the plasma rifle back where she found it at once. Both she and Haylen stood together, and saluted. Five years of trying had made Cait pretty good at that, she knew, and Nate gestured for them to be both be at ease.

"Sorry about all this," the Sentinel said to Nick, "I just get the feeling I'll be needing your skills soon enough."

"That's okay, I owe you from the last thing," the detective replied, lighting up a cigarette in his skeletal hand with a gold lighter in his more meaty one, "A lot easier to track down a kidnapping ring when you have a sniffer dog and a team of laser-toting professionals on your side."

"This job might be a bit harder than that," Nate said, "Haylen, report."

The scribe nodded. "I proceeded to USAF Satellite Station Olivia as ordered, and I was able to reactivate its systems. The satellite that Proctor Binet described does in fact exist. He was correct in saying the Institute had been using it as a secret databank. The password was not hard to crack once we knew what protocols to use."

"See, I told you," Binet said desperately, "I told you for years. There was a secret project."

"Forgive me for not believing you," Nate replied in turn, "But none of the other captured Institute scientists gave up anything like that. And they got real chatty after a while."

Cait shifted her weight, wondering why she was here. They were all talking like she wasn't there.

"Probably because those involved were dead," Nick mused, "Should've brought me in on this earlier."

"Probably," Nate agreed, "Scribe, did you find out what the secret project was?"

Haylen audibly gulped before answering. "The Gen-4 synth. A combined project of the SRB, Biological Division and Advanced Systems Division. Designed for long-range combat operations. The arrival of our recon teams from the Capital Wasteland spooked them."

She flipped her bag off her back and rummaged around in it, handing off printouts to the others.

Cait yawned, wondering what the big deal was. Another synth type, big whoop. They all break if you hit them hard enough. And if they didn't, that's what the Fat Man was for.

"A human-form synth with combat capability as part of its core programming," Binet said, "They always said that was too dangerous, which is why the SRB trained and converted existing synths. Loken lied to me."

"Well, Loken is dead now," Nate smirked, "Which I'm not losing any sleep over, frankly."

"Nathaniel..." Curie warned, not liking that sort of talk even at the best of times.

"So these synths were created to fight a war, not just protect the Institute," Nick added, "Nasty list of added extras over your regular Courser too. Built-in stealth tech, greater emotional-empathetic capacity to aid in infiltration, greater marksmanship and melee capability, if that was even possible..."

"Full cognitive defense," Curie added with a frown, "We cannot wipe or download its memory without an encryption key, which we do not have, or destroying core programming. No tracking chip is present in these blueprints either."

The reason for that was obvious to Cait. "They didn't want the Railroad or someone else turning one of them," she said, "Like that Courser at Far Harbor. What-do-you-call-her..."

"Chase," Nate provided, "Her name was Chase."

"Didn't go down easy, that one," Cait recalled.

"Nope."

"Bet you're regretting blowing up the Institute now," Binet said off-hand, "There's a lot of information we lost when you did, including encryption keys."

"I'm getting that feeling, yeah," came the reply from Nate.

"How many of this model were made?" Nick asked, "If they're out there, we need to warn Preston and your own lieutenants, right now."

"According to this, only one was manufactured," Binet said, with a strange new reluctance, "No description of what it looks like here, or its designation. It was finished a week before the Institute was destroyed... on the orders of Father himself."

Nate stopped dead. "Let me guess, he released it," he said, "He knew I was betraying him, or suspected."

"That would be my guess," Nick said, "And my next one is this; you want me to track down this synth, don't you?"

"Could be a valuable ally," Nate replied, "But if they don't cooperate, they need to be eliminated."

"It's been five years, Nate," Nick replied, "If this thing was going to come out and kill, wouldn't it have done so already? We have a lot of unsolved murders on the books, but none of them point to a synth with these sorts of skills. And as for it being an ally, you have enough soldiers. What's one more?"

Cait waved one of the printouts in front of Nick's face. "Have you been reading the same thing we have?" she asked, all sarcasm, "What happens if it joins the Gunners or something?"

"That's not likely to happen," the detective replied sharply.

"How the hell do you know?" Cait snapped back, "The Gunners don't care about synths or whatever. The NukaWorlders even less so, though it's harder to get in with them."

Nate raised a hand to quiet them both.

"I have enough trouble with Maxson or even Preston without rogue combat synths roaming without supervision," he said, "The Compromise only holds because all synths are under the aegis of the Brotherhood. Gen-3 synths are people, but they are also technology, dangerous technology if misused or abused."

"That's the reality. If I don't at least make an effort to track down this one, it'll blow the whole thing to hell. We'll be at war with the Capital Wasteland and probably half the knights inside our own ranks."

"Some things are worth the political cost," Nick said, "What Maxson doesn't know can't harm him. I say let sleeping dogs be. Now, if you want me to track down this synth, I'll do it. But I want your word that the first reaction to it being reluctant to join up won't be you blasting it to pieces. The design specs say it can think and feel just as much as any Gen-3. I'll try and reason with it. Let me do that much at least."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," said Nate, "Like I said, they would be a great ally. But you're going to bring Cait with you in case it goes the other way."

"What?" "Why?" Both Cait and Nick had responded at the same time.

"Cait isn't exactly the quiet type, she could spook it," Nick replied.

"Especially if she is stomping around in that armour of hers," Curie added, "Perhaps someone with a more subtle touch? Like Monsieur MacCready?"

"Too fuckin' right!" Cait stated in agreement, "I don't do subtle."

"MacCready can fight from quite a distance too," Nick threw in, "Not a bad suggestion."

"I need MacCready for something else, and besides, he isn't Brotherhood," Nate said, "Cait, you'll do subtle for this. No power armour. Get yourself some protection from the stores, an unmarked set. Anyone looking at you will just see a bodyguard or a mercenary."

"I don't need a nanny," Nick insisted, "No offence, Curie."

"None taken," the former Miss Nanny replied, "I was never in-fact a nanny, despite my chassis name."

"Look, it's going to get dangerous out there," Nate continued, "The NukeWorlders are making probing attacks. The last time they did that, there was a major offensive from both the northwest and the south. There'll be infiltrators. The line could let some enemy units through. Some of the former raiders we forced into civilian life at gunpoint might take the chance to get up to their old tricks. I don't know. Either way, one person in the wasteland is in more danger than two."

Nick drew on his cigarette for a long time, glowing rings of his eyes examining Nate.

"Okay, but Cait does what I tell her to," he replied, "Whenever I tell her to. And the whole thing is classified. I don't want to be strapped to some Brotherhood interrogation table one day simply because a report said I ignored a loose synth other than the one we're looking for."

"Done and done," Nate replied, before turning to Cait.

"Well then, Knight-Captain, you have work to do."