If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Outside the window, the fog continued rolling across the island and the machines of Far Harbor kept fighting it back.
For a moment after Nick's last words, the room settled into a thoughtful quiet.
The fog outside pressed softly against the windows, turning the morning light into a dull gray glow that filled the house without ever becoming bright. The steady rumble of the fog condensers continued somewhere beyond the buildings, the machines working endlessly to keep Far Harbor from being swallowed whole.
Inside, the stacked crates of supplies looked almost out of place in the modest wooden house.
Clean metal cases.
Fresh ammunition boxes.
Wax-sealed ration packs.
They were the kind of supplies that could mean the difference between survival and disaster in a place like this.
Avery studied them for a few seconds longer.
Not greedily.
More like someone calculating how long those boxes might keep the people of her town alive.
Sico noticed the look.
Without another word, he knelt beside one of the crates and lifted the lid.
The hinges creaked softly.
Inside were rows of ammunition cases stacked neatly inside padded compartments.
Nick leaned forward slightly.
"Well," he muttered.
"That's a lot of convincing arguments."
Avery gave a faint smile.
"More than we need."
Sico began removing several metal ammunition boxes and placing them carefully onto the table.
Each one landed with a dull metallic clunk.
Then he closed the crate again and pushed it back toward the wall.
He turned toward one of the Freemason soldiers standing nearby.
"Prepare these for transport."
The soldier nodded immediately.
"Yes, sir."
Avery watched quietly.
"You're sure?"
Sico met her gaze.
"You said the harbor wall defenses need ammunition."
She nodded.
"Yes."
"Then we will provide it."
Nick chuckled softly from the staircase.
"You know, Avery, you picked a good morning to come knocking."
Avery crossed her arms with a thoughtful expression.
"I'm beginning to think so."
She stepped closer to the table and looked at the ammunition boxes.
"These will help."
Her voice softened slightly.
"More than you probably realize."
Nick tilted his hat slightly.
"Well, that's the whole idea."
While the soldier gathered the ammunition into a small wooden crate, Sico moved toward another stack of supplies.
He began sorting through several containers.
Nick noticed.
"What are you looking for now?"
"Equipment."
Nick raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
Sico lifted a small bundle of metal rods tied together with wire.
Then he picked up a compact toolbox.
A spool of insulated cable followed.
Nick blinked.
"…You're building something."
Sico didn't answer immediately.
Instead he gathered several more pieces of equipment into his arms.
A small radio unit.
A power coupler.
A signal amplifier no bigger than a lunch box.
Finally Nick snapped his fingers.
"Radio."
Sico nodded.
"I need to contact Sanctuary."
Nick whistled softly.
"That's a long-distance call."
Avery looked interested now.
"You can reach that far?"
"With the right equipment."
Nick leaned forward with curiosity.
"Well now I want to see this."
Sico carried the equipment toward the staircase.
"Roof."
Nick grinned and followed him.
"Oh I'm definitely coming."
Avery hesitated for only a moment before shrugging and trailing behind them.
"Why not."
The roof of the old house was accessible through a narrow ladder hatch in the upper hallway.
When Sico pushed it open, cold fog-filled air spilled down into the house.
Nick climbed up behind him, pulling his coat tighter as he stepped onto the roof.
"Yep," he muttered.
"Still foggy."
The town stretched below them in muted gray shapes.
Far Harbor's crooked rooftops and wooden walkways wound along the slope above the docks like a maze built by tired hands over many years.
Lanterns still burned in several windows.
Along the harbor wall, the fog condensers continued their endless mechanical labor.
The large metal machines hummed and rattled as they sucked the fog inward through grated vents.
Every few seconds a burst of steam hissed into the air.
Avery stepped onto the roof beside them.
"Most people don't climb up here," she said.
Nick glanced around.
"Seems like a good view."
"On clear days," Avery replied.
"Which are rare."
Sico had already begun assembling the equipment.
He set the radio unit near the center of the roof and began attaching the metal rods together into a tall antenna.
Nick crouched beside him.
"You've done this before."
"Yes."
Nick nodded approvingly.
"Figured."
Sico worked methodically.
Each piece connected smoothly.
The rods extended upward until the antenna towered several feet above the roofline.
Then he secured it with tension cables anchored to the wooden beams.
Avery watched with interest.
"What kind of range does that thing have?"
"Enough."
Nick chuckled.
"That's not exactly a technical answer."
Sico ignored him and continued wiring the amplifier unit into the radio system.
Soon the antenna stood firmly against the gray sky.
A thin cable ran down into the radio box.
Sico flipped open the control panel.
The machine hummed quietly.
Nick folded his arms.
"So… Sanctuary."
He leaned slightly closer.
"That's your home base, right?"
"Yes."
Nick looked out toward the endless fog beyond the harbor.
"Must be a long signal jump."
Sico adjusted the signal dial.
"Distance is not the only obstacle."
"Yeah," Nick said.
"Radioactive fog probably doesn't help either."
Avery watched silently as Sico tuned the frequency.
After a moment the speaker crackled softly.
Static.
Sico adjusted the dial again.
More static.
Nick rubbed his chin.
"Come on…"
The radio crackled again.
Then a faint voice burst through the speaker.
"…—uary receiving… repeat… signal weak…"
Nick's eyebrows jumped.
"Well I'll be damned."
Sico leaned closer to the microphone.
"This is Sico."
Static crackled.
Then the voice responded again.
"President Sico?"
"Yes."
The voice on the other end sounded surprised.
"We weren't expecting contact so soon."
Sico's tone remained calm.
"Situation update."
Nick leaned back slightly, giving him space.
Sico continued.
"We have reached Far Harbor."
The voice replied quickly.
"Status?"
"Town secured."
"Local population cooperative."
"Objective still active."
Avery raised an eyebrow quietly but said nothing.
Sico continued speaking into the microphone.
"I require reinforcements."
Nick tilted his head slightly.
"Oh?"
Sico finished his transmission.
"Send additional personnel."
"Food supplies."
"Ammunition."
"Medical equipment."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then the voice replied.
"Understood."
Nick smiled faintly.
"Efficient."
Sico ended the transmission and powered down the radio.
The fog drifted slowly across the rooftop as the antenna towered silently above them.
Avery looked thoughtful.
"You're bringing more people here."
"Yes."
Nick stood and stretched.
"Well… that'll certainly make Far Harbor more interesting."
Sico began packing the equipment back into the toolbox.
But he left the antenna standing.
It would remain there as a permanent communication beacon.
Avery looked at it with quiet curiosity.
"Your people must trust you a lot."
Nick laughed.
"That's one way to put it."
Sico climbed down the ladder back into the house.
Nick followed.
Avery descended last.
Inside, several Freemason soldiers were preparing the ammunition crate for Avery's men.
But another man stood near the doorway.
Albert.
Still wearing his naval officer's coat.
He looked up as Sico entered.
"Sir."
Sico nodded once.
"Status."
Albert gestured toward the harbor.
"The patrol boat is ready."
Nick looked between them.
"Oh?"
Albert continued.
"The sailors are waiting."
Sico spoke clearly.
"You will return to the Naval Headquarters."
Nick raised his eyebrows.
"That's a long trip."
Albert nodded.
"Yes sir."
Sico continued.
"Bring reinforcements."
"More soldiers."
"Additional supplies."
Albert acknowledged the order immediately.
"Understood."
Nick walked toward the window and watched as several sailors gathered near the docks below.
A small patrol boat rocked gently in the gray water.
Five sailors were already loading equipment aboard.
Nick tipped his hat slightly.
"Looks like someone's going on a road trip."
Albert stepped toward the door.
"I'll leave immediately."
Sico nodded.
"Good."
Nick glanced toward Avery.
"Well…"
He smirked.
"Looks like your quiet little harbor town is about to get some company."
Avery sighed softly.
"I figured as much."
She looked out toward the docks where Albert was now walking down the boardwalk toward the waiting boat.
The sailors saluted briefly as he approached.
Within minutes the patrol boat's engine sputtered to life.
Smoke drifted into the fog as the vessel slowly pulled away from the docks.
The boat disappeared quickly into the endless gray mist.
Carrying Albert and Sico's orders, back toward the distant Naval Headquarters.
Nick watched the fog swallow the boat entirely.
Then he looked back at Sico.
"Well."
He leaned casually against the wall.
"Things are getting serious around here."
Outside the machines of Far Harbor continued fighting the fog.
The fog outside the window rolled slowly across the harbor like a living thing.
It curled around rooftops, slid along the wooden boardwalks, and pressed softly against the outer wall where the great fog condensers continued their endless mechanical labor. The machines hummed and hissed in steady rhythm, drawing the poisonous mist inward and pushing it back out again in thin streams of vapor.
Inside the house, the quiet had settled again after Albert's departure.
Several Freemason soldiers were reorganizing the remaining supplies along the wall, stacking crates carefully so they wouldn't block the narrow walking space between the table and the door.
Avery stood near the window, watching the harbor where the patrol boat had vanished minutes earlier.
Her arms were folded loosely, her expression thoughtful.
Nick leaned against the table, spinning his hat slowly between his fingers.
"Well," he said after a moment, "that's one way to start a morning."
Sico didn't respond immediately.
He was looking toward the door, listening to the muffled sounds of Far Harbor beginning its daily routine outside.
Boots on damp wood.
Fishermen hauling nets.
Someone hammering something metal near the docks.
Life in the harbor was already moving.
Nick noticed the look.
"You thinking about the guide?"
"Yes."
Nick pushed himself upright.
"Then we should probably get moving."
Avery turned away from the window.
"Old Longfellow?"
"Yes."
She nodded once.
"You'll find him at the Last Plank."
Nick grinned slightly.
"Bar at ten in the morning."
He shrugged.
"Can't say I'm surprised."
Avery stepped toward the door.
"I'll send someone to pick up the ammunition crate."
Sico nodded.
"My men will assist."
"Appreciated."
She paused briefly before leaving.
"And if Longfellow agrees to guide you…"
Her expression grew slightly more serious.
"Listen to him."
Nick raised an eyebrow.
"That bad out there?"
Avery gave a quiet shrug.
"The fog doesn't forgive mistakes."
Then she stepped outside into the gray morning mist and pulled the door closed behind her.
For a few seconds the room stayed quiet again.
Nick placed his hat back on his head.
"Well."
He stretched his arms lazily.
"Shall we go meet the famous drunk island guide?"
Sico grabbed his coat.
"Yes."
Nick grinned.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
The streets of Far Harbor were damp with fog and sea mist as they stepped outside.
The town had fully awakened now.
Fishermen were moving along the docks carrying nets over their shoulders.
Wooden carts rattled slowly along the boardwalks as people hauled supplies toward the market stalls.
Lanterns still burned in several corners of the settlement, though their glow was faint in the gray daylight.
Nick shoved his hands into his coat pockets as they walked.
"You know," he said, glancing toward the fog machines along the harbor wall, "I've been to a lot of strange places."
He nodded toward the humming towers.
"But a town that literally runs on fog vacuum cleaners…"
"…that's new."
Sico walked steadily beside him.
"They keep the town alive."
"Yeah."
Nick nodded.
"Hard to argue with that."
They passed several locals along the boardwalk.
Some glanced curiously at the pair.
Others simply nodded politely before continuing their work.
The people of Far Harbor had clearly seen strangers before, but armed strangers with disciplined soldiers were still an unusual sight.
Eventually the wooden walkway widened slightly near the center of town.
A weathered building stood on the corner.
A faded wooden sign hung above the door.
THE LAST PLANK.
Nick tipped his hat toward the sign.
"Well."
He smiled.
"Looks promising."
The sound of muffled voices drifted from inside.
Along with the faint clink of bottles.
Sico pushed the door open.
Warmth greeted them immediately.
Compared to the damp fog outside, the inside of the bar felt almost comfortable.
A small stove crackled in the corner, filling the room with the smell of burning wood.
The interior was simple but sturdy.
Heavy wooden tables.
Bar stools that had clearly seen years of use.
Fishing nets hung along the walls like decoration.
A few lanterns provided a soft yellow glow that reflected off rows of bottles behind the bar.
Several locals were already seated around the room.
Two fishermen sat near the stove arguing quietly about something.
A woman near the window sipped from a mug while studying a map spread across the table.
Another man sat alone near the far wall, staring thoughtfully into a glass.
Nick took a slow look around.
"Well."
He murmured.
"Cozy."
Behind the bar stood a broad-shouldered man polishing a glass with a cloth.
He looked up as the door closed behind them.
His beard was thick and flecked with gray, and his expression carried the calm patience of someone who had spent many years listening to other people's problems over drinks.
He set the glass down and nodded politely.
"Morning."
Nick tipped his hat slightly.
"Morning."
Sico stepped up to the bar.
The bartender studied him briefly.
"You're the new folks who helped with the gulper attack last night."
"Yes."
The man extended a hand across the counter.
"Mitch."
"Owner of this place."
Sico shook his hand.
"Sico."
Nick leaned against the bar beside him.
"Nick Valentine."
Mitch nodded.
"Welcome to the Last Plank."
He gestured toward the shelves behind him.
"What'll it be?"
Sico glanced briefly at the bottles.
"Whiskey."
Mitch smiled faintly.
"Good choice."
He reached for a dusty bottle on the shelf and poured a small glass.
The amber liquid sloshed softly as he slid the drink across the bar.
Sico picked it up.
The warmth of the alcohol hit his throat immediately as he took a slow sip.
Nick watched with amusement.
"Starting early."
Sico set the glass back on the counter.
"I have a question."
Mitch leaned forward slightly.
"Shoot."
Sico glanced around the room.
"Which one of these men is Old Longfellow?"
The bartender's expression shifted into a knowing smile.
"Oh."
He chuckled quietly.
"You're looking for him."
Nick folded his arms.
"That obvious?"
Mitch wiped his hands on the cloth.
"Anyone asking that question usually is."
He tilted his head toward the far corner of the room.
"You see that old guy sitting by himself over there?"
Nick turned to look.
An elderly man sat alone at a small table near the wall.
His coat was heavy and worn, the kind of weathered leather that had clearly seen years of travel through harsh conditions.
A battered hunting rifle leaned against the chair beside him.
His beard was thick and gray.
His hat was pulled low over eyes that seemed half closed.
A bottle sat on the table in front of him.
Nick smiled faintly.
"Well."
He murmured.
"That definitely looks like a guide who knows the fog."
Mitch nodded.
"That's Longfellow."
Sico finished his whiskey in one slow swallow.
Nick tilted his head.
"You sure you want to talk to him before his second drink?"
Mitch laughed softly.
"Trust me."
"He's already had his second drink."
Nick grinned.
"Fair point."
Sico placed a few caps on the bar and turned toward the table.
Nick followed him.
As they approached, the old man didn't immediately look up.
He slowly lifted the bottle and took another drink before setting it back down.
Nick stopped a few feet away.
"You Old Longfellow?"
The man's eyes finally lifted beneath the brim of his hat.
They were sharp.
Far sharper than the rest of his relaxed posture suggested.
He studied them for a moment.
Then his gravelly voice spoke.
"Depends who's askin'."
Sico stepped forward slightly.
"I am."
Longfellow leaned back in his chair.
"Well then."
He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
"What do you want?"
Sico spoke calmly.
"We need a guide."
Nick pulled out the chair across from him and sat down casually.
Longfellow's eyes shifted between them.
"A guide where?"
Sico answered simply.
"Through the fog."
The old man chuckled.
"That's most of the island, son."
Nick smiled.
"Fair."
Sico continued.
"We're looking for a place called Acadia."
At that name, Longfellow's expression changed slightly.
He leaned forward just a little.
"You planning to visit the synth refuge."
Nick raised an eyebrow.
"You've heard of it."
Longfellow snorted.
"Hard not to."
He picked up the bottle again but didn't drink yet.
Instead he studied Sico carefully.
"You planning to walk through the fog to get there?"
"Yes."
Longfellow finally took another slow drink.
Then he set the bottle down and wiped his beard with the back of his hand.
"You'd be dead before lunch."
Nick chuckled.
"That's exactly why we're here."
The old man leaned back again.
"So you want me to guide you."
"Yes."
Longfellow scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"You got any idea what lives in that fog?"
Nick shrugged.
"We're starting to get the picture."
Longfellow gestured vaguely toward the harbor outside.
"Fog crawlers."
"Anglers."
"Gulpers."
"And things worse than those."
He paused briefly.
"The island eats fools who think they can walk through it without someone who knows the paths."
Nick smiled.
"That's why we're offering you the job."
Longfellow looked at Sico again.
"And what makes you think I'll say yes?"
Sico met his gaze calmly.
"Because you know the island."
"That ain't a reason."
"We will pay."
Longfellow snorted softly.
"Caps don't mean much if you're dead."
Nick leaned forward.
"Fair point."
Longfellow studied them for another moment.
Then he asked quietly,
"Why Acadia?"
Sico answered simply.
"We're looking for someone."
The old man's eyes narrowed slightly.
"A runaway synth?"
Nick tilted his head.
"You know about that too?"
Longfellow shrugged.
"Word travels."
He tapped the table with one finger.
"Name wouldn't happen to be Kasumi, would it?"
Nick blinked.
"Well now."
"That's impressive."
Longfellow chuckled.
"Girl passed through town not long ago."
He looked at Sico again.
"You're looking for her."
"Yes."
The old man leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of the stove.
Finally he sighed.
"Well…"
He grabbed the bottle again and took one last drink.
Then he set it down firmly on the table.
"I suppose I could guide you."
Nick grinned.
"There it is."
Longfellow pointed one finger at them.
"But understand something."
His voice had grown more serious now.
"When we step into that fog…"
"…you follow my lead."
"No heroics."
"No wandering off."
"And if I tell you to run…"
"…you run."
Nick nodded.
"Sounds reasonable."
Longfellow looked at Sico.
"You agree to that?"
Sico answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
The old man slowly stood up from the table.
His joints cracked slightly as he stretched.
Then he grabbed the hunting rifle leaning beside his chair.
"Well then."
He pulled his hat down a little lower.
"Finish your drinks."
"We leave soon."
Nick smiled and leaned back in his chair.
"Well."
He glanced toward Sico.
"Looks like we found our guide."
For a few seconds after Nick's last remark, the three men simply stood there beside the table.
The Last Plank was slowly filling with the quiet rhythm of morning.
Outside the fog continued drifting past the windows in long gray streaks, occasionally parting just enough to reveal the silhouettes of people moving along the boardwalk. Inside the bar the wood stove popped softly, sending little waves of warmth across the room.
Old Longfellow rested both hands on the back of his chair.
He looked at Sico for a moment longer, as if measuring him.
Nick leaned lazily against the table, clearly content to let the silence stretch a little.
Finally Sico spoke.
"We will not leave today."
Longfellow raised one eyebrow beneath the brim of his hat.
"No?"
Sico shook his head slightly.
"Two days."
Nick glanced at him briefly but didn't interrupt.
Longfellow scratched his beard.
"Two days?"
"Yes."
Sico spoke calmly, as he always did, but there was something deliberate in his tone.
"I need time."
"For what?" Longfellow asked.
"To bring more of my men here."
The old guide leaned back slightly.
"And supplies."
Nick smiled faintly.
"Lots of supplies."
Longfellow's eyes shifted between them.
"So you're not just a couple of travelers looking for a girl."
Sico didn't answer directly.
But his silence was answer enough.
The old man chuckled quietly and shook his head.
"Well I'll be damned."
He reached down and picked up his bottle again, though this time he didn't drink from it immediately.
"You planning to march an army through the fog?"
Nick gave a casual shrug.
"Let's call it… preparation."
Longfellow snorted.
"Preparation's good."
He finally took a small drink before setting the bottle down again.
"Most folks who come to this island don't do much of that."
Sico remained standing beside the table.
"In two days we will leave for Acadia."
Longfellow rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Then he nodded.
"Alright."
Nick tilted his head.
"That easy?"
Longfellow shrugged.
"Two days doesn't change the fog."
He pointed toward the door.
"That stuff out there's been swallowing people for decades."
Another couple days wouldn't make much difference.
Then he looked directly at Sico.
"You meet me here again."
He tapped the wooden floor with the butt of his rifle.
"Two days."
"Same place."
"Morning."
Nick tipped his hat slightly.
"Deal."
Longfellow pointed a finger at him.
"And bring some decent whiskey."
Nick laughed.
"I'll see what I can do."
The old guide picked up his bottle again and sat back down at the table.
"Now if you don't mind…"
He gestured toward the bottle.
"I've got important work to get back to."
Nick chuckled.
"Of course you do."
Sico gave a short nod.
Then he turned and walked toward the bar.
Nick followed him.
Behind them Longfellow had already returned his attention to the bottle, as though the conversation had been nothing more than a brief interruption to his morning routine.
At the bar, Mitch glanced up.
"That go alright?"
Nick rested his elbow on the counter.
"Better than expected."
Mitch smirked slightly.
"That usually means Longfellow agreed."
"Yes," Sico said.
"Two days."
The bartender nodded slowly.
"That tracks."
He wiped another glass with his cloth.
"Old Longfellow's stubborn, but he respects people who know how to prepare."
Nick gestured casually toward the corner.
"Seems like a decent guide."
"He is," Mitch said.
"He's just not fond of fools."
Nick smiled.
"Good thing we're charming."
Mitch snorted.
"Sure you are."
Sico placed a few more caps on the bar.
"For the whiskey."
Mitch slid the caps toward himself.
"Appreciated."
Nick pushed himself upright.
"Well."
He looked toward the door.
"Guess we've got some time to kill."
Sico had already turned toward the exit.
"We have work."
Nick sighed theatrically.
"Of course we do."
They stepped back out into the fog.
The air outside felt colder than before.
The fog had thickened slightly, drifting in slow waves along the narrow wooden streets of Far Harbor.
The sounds of the harbor continued all around them.
Fishermen shouting from the docks.
Ropes creaking against wooden posts.
The distant hiss of the fog condensers.
Nick shoved his hands into his coat pockets again as they started walking.
"So."
He glanced sideways at Sico.
"Two days."
"Yes."
"You planning something big?"
Sico kept walking.
"Preparation."
Nick smirked.
"You like that word."
"It is important."
Nick nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, if Albert makes it back with reinforcements…"
He whistled quietly.
"Far Harbor's going to look very different."
They turned a corner along the boardwalk, passing a few locals hauling crates toward the docks.
Several people nodded politely as they passed.
Word had already spread about the newcomers who helped defend the town during the gulper attack.
Eventually Nick spotted a familiar figure standing near the edge of the harbor wall.
Avery.
She was speaking with two fishermen near one of the fog condenser control panels.
The machines hissed loudly beside them as they worked.
Nick nudged Sico slightly.
"There she is."
They approached.
Avery noticed them almost immediately.
She finished her conversation with the fishermen before turning toward them.
"Well?"
Nick spread his arms slightly.
"Good news."
Avery raised an eyebrow.
"That was quick."
Sico spoke.
"Old Longfellow agreed."
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
"That's good."
Nick nodded.
"Apparently we weren't the first ones asking about Acadia."
Avery gave a small shrug.
"Not surprising."
She folded her arms.
"So when are you leaving?"
"Two days."
That answer made her pause.
"Two days?"
Sico nodded.
"Yes."
Nick leaned casually against the railing beside the harbor.
"We're waiting for reinforcements."
Avery's eyes narrowed slightly.
"The boat that left earlier?"
"Yes."
Sico continued calmly.
"More of my men will be arriving."
"Along with supplies."
She studied him for a moment.
"How many men?"
"Enough."
Nick smiled faintly.
"That's his favorite kind of answer."
Avery exhaled slowly.
"Well…"
She looked out toward the fog-covered water.
"I can't say I didn't expect something like this."
Nick tilted his head.
"Concerned?"
"Curious."
She turned back toward them.
"Far Harbor isn't exactly used to large groups of organized soldiers arriving from the mainland."
Nick gestured toward the fog condensers.
"You also aren't used to gulper attacks every other week."
"That's fair," she admitted.
Sico continued.
"When my men arrive, they will bring supplies."
"What kind of supplies?" Avery asked.
"Food."
"Ammunition."
"Medical equipment."
Nick added casually,
"And probably enough crates to make Mitch complain about storage space."
Avery's eyes shifted thoughtfully.
"Those supplies…"
"Yes?"
"You mentioned trade yesterday."
Sico nodded once.
"Yes."
Her expression changed slightly.
"You're serious about that."
"Yes."
Nick leaned back against the railing.
"We brought more than we need."
Avery crossed her arms.
"Far Harbor has things you might need too."
"Fish."
"Repair materials."
"Fuel."
"Navigation knowledge."
Nick grinned.
"Exactly."
Sico spoke calmly.
"When my men arrive, you can begin trading again."
"Directly with us."
Avery studied him carefully.
"You're offering a stable supply line."
"Yes."
Nick added,
"Which might be helpful if the island keeps throwing giant radioactive monsters at your walls."
Avery couldn't help a small smile.
"That's one way to describe it."
She looked toward the harbor again.
Several boats were drifting slowly through the mist as fishermen returned from early nets.
"You realize something."
Nick tilted his head.
"What's that?"
"If word spreads that Far Harbor has access to new supplies…"
She paused briefly.
"…other groups on the island might take interest."
Nick shrugged.
"We'll deal with that when it happens."
Avery looked back at Sico.
"And your soldiers?"
"They will respect the town."
Nick nodded.
"No conquering."
"No marching bands."
"Just business."
The fog condenser beside them hissed loudly, releasing a cloud of steam into the air.
For a moment the mist thickened around them before drifting away again.
Avery watched it quietly.
Then she nodded.
"Alright."
Nick raised an eyebrow.
"That easy?"
Avery looked at him.
"Far Harbor survives by making smart decisions."
She gestured toward the town behind them.
"And right now…"
"…having new trade partners sounds like a smart decision."
Nick smiled.
"Good to hear."
Sico looked toward the harbor where the fog stretched endlessly across the water.
"Two days."
"Yes," Avery said.
"In two days."
Nick adjusted his hat.
"And then we go meet the mysterious synth colony in the mountains."
Avery glanced at him.
"You really don't know what you're walking into."
Nick chuckled.
"That's half the fun."
The three of them stood there quietly for a moment, listening to the steady hum of the fog machines and the distant sounds of Far Harbor continuing its daily life.
Somewhere beyond the gray horizon…
Albert's boat was already cutting through the fog on its long journey back to Naval Headquarters.
And if everything went according to plan, within two days the quiet harbor town would see the arrival of new soldiers and new supplies.
______________________________________________
• Name: Sico
• Stats :
S: 8,44
P: 7,44
E: 8,44
C: 8,44
I: 9,44
A: 7,45
L: 7
• Skills: advance Mechanic, Science, and Shooting skills, intermediate Medical, Hand to Hand Combat, Lockpicking, Hacking, Persuasion, and Drawing Skills
• Inventory: 53.280 caps, 10mm Pistol, 1500 10mm rounds, 22 mole rats meat, 17 mole rats teeth, 1 fragmentation grenade, 6 stimpak, 1 rad x, 6 fusion core, computer blueprint, modern TV blueprint, camera recorder blueprint, 1 set of combat armor, Automatic Assault Rifle, 1.500 5.56mm rounds, power armor T51 blueprint, Electric Motorcycle blueprint, T-45 power armor, Minigun, 1.000 5mm rounds, Cryolator, 200 cryo cell, Machine Gun Turret Mk1 blueprint, electric car blueprint, Kellogg gun, Righteous Authority, Ashmaker, Furious Power Fist, Full set combat armor blueprint, M240 7.62mm machine guns blueprint, Automatic Assault Rifle blueprint, and Humvee blueprint.
• Active Quest:-