"Home sweet home," said Hancock with a stretch as we walked through the gate. "I'm gonna check on Fahrenheit. I'll meet you in the Rail?"
"Yeah, sure."
Hancock entered the State House. I walked around the building and down the steps to enter the bar. The bouncer, Ham, eyed me questioningly. I took my helmet off so he could see who I was, and he nodded me through.
"Any friend of Mayor Hancock... is a friend of the Third Rail," he said, monotone.
Magnolia was singing an upbeat jive and Charlie was shining glasses behind the bar. There were a few patrons scattered around, talking and drinking and nodding their heads to the song on the stage, but it wasn't too busy in here today.
I took off my armor next to the bar stool I planned to sit at.
Charlie gave me a stout greeting. "Gov."
"Hey, Charlie."
"You're becoming quite the regular in Goodneighbor."
I nodded but didn't answer. Instead, my attention wandered around the room. I heard glasses softly hitting the tabletops, the shuffling of cards, a few coughs here and there, and hushed voices. My ears zoned in on the voices that came from a table closest to the bar.
"You think it'll be Fahrenheit?" asked a Ghoul lady.
"Nah, I was thinkin' I might run for it," responded a middle-aged man.
I was confused by this small exchange. It almost sounded like they were discussing an election. If Hancock walked out of Goodneighbor as many times as he claimed, the citizens shouldn't have been worried about Hancock stepping down or not returning. Right?
"You buyin' or just keepin' the stool warm?"
I felt around in my pocket for loose caps. "Um, sure. What do you have on offer?"
"Well, the beer still tastes the same: like shit. We got top-shelf rum, Surkov, vodka, and triple-distilled whiskey."
"Lemme get a shot of whiskey to warm up."
"That'll be ten caps, Gov."
"What? Ten caps? The whole bottle's worth fifteen! At least, that's what it was last time I was here..."
"Well, let's just say supplies are short and demand is high. Now, you buyin' or wot?"
A hand came down on the bar, slamming caps onto its surface. "No need for that, Chuck. Lighten up," said Hancock with a threatening hint.
"Of course, Mayor 'ancock. My apologies. I didn't know she came with such important company today..."
"A friend of mine is a friend of the Rail, remember? Lay off."
Charlie sighed. "Drinks on the house, then." He poured two shots of whiskey and slid them to me and Hancock.
I shot the robot a mocking glare and drank my whiskey.
"Sorry about that." Hancock gathered up his caps. "Everyone's a bit on edge after me leavin'. They always get like that."
"Yeah? Well, they can lay off treating me like a wanted criminal."
"They blame you for taking me away from Goodneighbor. What they don't understand is I made the decision to leave and do some soul searchin'. 'Sides, you're a good sort. I'm glad I took up with ya." He threw back his shot. "Ready to head out?"
"Not yet. I'm worn out. Could go for a few more drinks. Maybe rest my feet."
He nodded. "Say no more." He motioned Charlie over to him. "Yo, Chuck. Gimme that bottle of whiskey."
Charlie handed him the bottle. Then, Hancock led me to a corner of the Third Rail where a booth was set up. He slid into one of the seats and set the bottle and glass on the tabletop. I slid into the seat across form him and set my glass down, too. The faux leather seat was surprisingly comfortable. It was ripped at the seams and flaking part, but the cushions were bouncy. I leaned my back against the wall and stretched out my legs in the seat, taking care not to get my boot laces stuck on the bit of spring sticking out.
"This is more like it," said Hancock, following suit. He even kicked his boots off and crossed his ankles. He poured another shot for both of us and held up his glass.
"What are we toasting to?"
"To another dead Institute bastard and about fifty dead Gunners outta do it, heh heh."
I clinked mine against his, and we both swallowed in one go.
"I can't drink too much," I muttered past the grimace I made as the whiskey went down. "Still gotta be able to walk out of here. This is mostly to knock the chill away."
"Hey, enjoy your downtime while you got it, sister. Besides, I had a few questions for ya. Some things have been eatin' at me."
"What is it?"
He squinted at me. "Airplanes... How the hell did something so big stay in the airborne?"
I laughed. "Are you serious?"
He nodded.
"I'm no expert, but... I guess they went so fast, the air was pushed beneath the wings, causing a lift and keeping it in the air."
"Did you really have toilets on a plane?"
"Well, yeah. You couldn't sit no an eight-to-twelve-hour flight without needing a restroom."
"Eight to twelve?! Goddamn. Talk about leg cramps..." He poured another shot.
"Any other questions?" I was rather enjoying this little game of his.
"Oh, I'm loaded with questions, sister..." He drank his next shot. "Okay, so, those moving stair thingies. In the shopping malls."
"Escalators?"
"Yeah. What the hell did they move for?"
"They were just stairs that you didn't have to climb. They moved like... conveyor belts. Walking up and down flights of stairs could get tiring, so they made escalators to save people time. They'd have more energy to shop."
"Shit. Stairs that you didn't have to climb, giant metal birds with toilets, robot slaves... Did no one do anything for themselves before the War?"
I looked down at my shot glass. "Well, I guess we still did some things for ourselves. I mean, not everyone could afford to ride airplanes or get a personal robot or go to the mall."
"So, 'poor people.'" He raised an eyebrow.
I scrunched up my nose, uncomfortable now. "Yeah, I guess so, in few words."
He examined my face. "Could you afford those things?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
"So, what'd you do before the War?"
I smirked. "I was a bankruptcy lawyer. It sounds so stupid to say it now."
"Oh-ho. A lawyer, huh? Big job."
"There's no law anymore. No justice system. I never would have thought I'd wind up having to kill someone, but here I am with blood on my hands."
"Christ," he exclaimed. "I can't imagine what it was like for you. But I also can't imagine living a life where you don't have to kill to survive."
"... When was the first time you... you know, killed someone?"
He scratched his head, knocking his hat askew. "Hmm. I think it was about... shit, when I was nineteen or so? A chem deal gone wrong. And before you give me that look, I was set up. Long story short, the bigger players in Diamond City wanted us addicts to stop buying from the small-time dealers. Had them killed, and wanted to use me as an example. The woman involved, we used to have a thing. Her dad was and still is a kingpin in the chem industry. If it wasn't for Nick getting involved, I'd probably have died that day. I managed to defend myself, but... I killed that woman in the process. The current mayor of Diamond City wanted me to do time, but I wasn't in there longer than a week before I was let out, heh heh."
I tried to imagine the story unfolding in my head as he explained. "How horrible it must have been to be nineteen and have to kill your girlfriend to defend yourself..."
He waved his hand. "She wasn't exactly my girlfriend, but yeah. It was my own damn fault for getting involved with shady assholes, but what can I say? I wound up the mayor of Goodneighbor, so I guess I never learned my lesson." He smirked.
"Did you regret doing what you did?"
"Nah... I don't really think about it anymore. That part of my life — it's so far in the past, I forget it actually happened to me. Still, I probably wouldn't kill somebody over somethin' like that these days. Back then, everything was so heat-of-the-moment. I was young and crazy." He poured himself another shot.
I was already starting to feel the buzz and pushed my shot glass away from me before he offered me another drink. The whiskey was starting to bring back uncomfortable memories of the Castle and MacCready.
"You done?" he asked.
I nodded. "If I drink any more, I won't be any good talking to Amari."
He took my shot for me and ritualistically turned both glasses upside down.
"So, how old are you really?" I asked.
He smiled. "Why? You interested?"
"Th-That's not what I meant at all, you ass..."
He laughed. "I'm only teasin'. I just like seein' how fast your face can turn red."
I stared daggers into his eyes before hiding my face behind my hand.
"I'll give you a hint; if I had any hair, it'd be turnin' gray right about now."
I thought for a moment, but I wasn't confident enough to start throwing out numbers.
"Anyways, you ready to get outta here?"
"Yeah. I slid out of the little booth and tried to stand up, but I only managed to lean over the table and stumble.
He jumped up and grabbed my arm. "Whoa, I guess you did drink a little too much."
"Ugh, I haven't eaten anything in a while."
"I'll be right back."
He eased me back into the seat and walked over to the bar. He had a word with Charlie about something. Charlie handed him a can. Hancock brought the can back over to the booth along with a spoon and set them on the table. Then, he took a seat and took out his knife.
"What's this?"
"Eh, just somethin' Chuck had behind the bar. It's not much, but it should get ya through the day."
He jammed the knife into the top of the can and cut around the edge until the top would open up with ease.
Even though it was just a can of Pork N' Beans, I couldn't have felt more taken care of. It might have just been the whiskey, but I was feeling sentimental.
"Thanks..."
"Hey, no need for thanks; it's the neighborly thing to do."
I started eating from the can. It was silent between us during half of that time, with Hancock smoking a cigarette and zoning out on the other side of the table. Magnolia had finished singing her songs and took a break. Th sounds of murmuring patrons and clinking glasses could be heard throughout the bar.
"Hancock, do people around here still celebrate Christmas? It's almost December."
He shrugged. "I mean, most people with families like to exchange little gifts. Other folks just see it as another day. more educated folks see it as an outdated religious thing."
I frowned.
"What was Christmas like before the War?"
"Oh, it was beautiful... Lively and heartwarming... There were colored lights everywhere, decorated trees, lots of snow, busy churches, big dinners with roast turkeys and glazed hams..." I sighed. "Christmas was my favorite holiday."
He chuckled. "The way you talk about prewar memories, the way your eyes light up... I wish I had memories like that."
My chest tightened with remorse. Did Hancock have any happy memories?
Just then, someone from one of the tables had got up, approached Hancock, and tapped him on the shoulder. The man said something about a cared game Hancock owed him. Hancock just laughed and adjusted in his seat.
"I'll be right back," he said. "You finish eating. I'm gonna whip this guy's ass in Poker real quick."
I smiled as he slid out of the booth and joined the man and two other patrons at their table. I had about half the can of beans left, so I took my time.
A part of me was riddled with guilt. I shouldn't have taken so long to rest. I shouldn't have been sitting at the bar, eating and drinking, chatting with the mayor. I should have been at the Memory Den by now, getting the chip decoded.
The other part of me was appreciative of the time I took to relax. In the end, I was doing myself a favor. If I kept pushing, my body would eventually break down.
I sneaked a glance at Hancock's table as I heard him laugh. He had obtained quite a crowd as they watched him and the other three people playing. He confidently tossed in a few caps to bet.
The game went on for a few more minutes after I had finished eating. Finally, someone laid down their hand, and the game was over. Hancock looked humble as he took a loss and shook their hands. Then he fished through his pockets and handed the winner an inhaler of Jet and said, "You've earned it."
He walked back to my booth and shrugged his shoulders.
"Lost, huh?"
"Ya can't win 'em all. The guy beat me fair and square."
"That's what you get for talking smack before the game even starts," I teased.
"Okay, okay, don't go addin' insult to injury. You ready to head out?"
____________________
The Memory Den was right down the road. I left my Power Armor inside by the door. Irma was lounging in her usual loveseat in the middle of the room, a feather boa draped over her shoulders. She gave Hancock a provocative little wave. Dr. Amari was at the back, typing away on a computer terminal.
"Oh, you're back!" She dropped everything she was doing when she saw me. "The Glowing Sea? Virgil? Tell me everything that happened."
"I found him. He has a way inside the Institute, but I need a code from a Courser chip."
"Unfortunately, I can't help you. I've worked on many synths, but never a Courser. I don't know what that chip does, let alone how to decode it. But there might be people who might..." She lowered her voice and moved closer to me. "I work with a group that — well, they're the only ones I know that even have a chance at cracking Institute security. They're called the Railroad. You need a code phrase in order to find them. 'Follow the Freedom Trail.'"
"That's all you have for me?" I frowned.
"I'm afraid so. The Railroad is understandably paranoid. They're fighting the Institute, after all. You'll have to figure this out as you go." From her pocket, she handed me a holotape. "This may or may not help you along the way."
I examined the tape labeled "Join the Railroad."
"Thanks, Amari."
"Don't thank me yet. You have your work cut out for you. And Mayor Hancock, if you plan on traveling with Gwen here, please keep her and yourself out of trouble." She gave him a stern look.
"Hey, we're up against the Institute. Anything's bound to happen."
"You know full well what I mean. I don't want her walking in here with stab wounds or chem addictions."
He crossed his heart. "Mayor's honor."
I walked over to one of the red sofas in the front of the room, sat down, and put the tape in my Pip-Boy's tape player. Hancock took a seat beside me.
It was a woman's voice. He had a naturally condescending tone about her.
"Wake up, Commonwealth. Synths are not your enemy. They're victims in this war, as well. True, they were created by the Institute. But they were created as slaves. Thinking, feeling, and dreaming beings utterly oppressed by their tyrannical masters. So join with us in fighting the real enemy: the Institute. Join the Railroad. When you're ready for that next step, don't worry, we'll find you."
Click.
"Kinda cryptic, don'tcha think?" asked Hancock.
"'Follow the Freedom Trail...' Where have I heard that before?"
The Freedom Trail...
The Freedom Trail...
____________________
I overslept. It was midday when I got ready to leave. I rushed out of Hotel Rexford and met Hancock in the State House, hair still a mess and shoelaces untied. As he took the time to gather up a few fresh chems for his pockets, I brushed out my hair, put it up in a bun, and tied my shoe laces properly.
I was worried at my Power Armor. The battery life was at a measly five percent. After suiting up, Hancock and I checked with the robot, Cleo, at her gun shop, but she was fresh out of power cores.
"You're gonna have to leave it here," said Hancock.
"But..."
"You'll be fine without it. Trust me. I got your back. Leave the armor in the State House."
I grumbled, but he was right. If this thing lost battery power in the middle of a fight, it'd be detrimental. I went back to the State House, stepped out of the armor in the corner of the room, then met Hancock at the gate so we could continue this crazy journey.
The Freedom Trail...
I couldn't stand not being able to remember where I'd heard that before. I wracked my brain for the memory, but no luck.
Hancock stopped and pointed to the ground right outside of Goodneighbor's walls. "Hey, look! 'Boston: The Freedom Trail.'"
"What?"
And there it was. A marker made of a large, round copper piece, almost as big as a manhole cover. On it was "6 - O" written in red paint. Underneath it was a red line made of thin pieces of red brick. A trail. It went all the way down the sidewalk. I lost track of it underneath some of the debris by the buildings and would have to look around to pick it up again.
"You're a genius, Hancock."
"No, I just have eyes."
That's where I remembered the Freedom Trail from. It was a tourist attraction for people to view all the national landmarks and old buildings of historical Boston. A lot of people walked the Freedom Trail and took pictures with their families. Nate and I went once after moving out here to the coast.
We followed this trail through the debris and the wreckage of the city ruins. We climbed over an old bus and jumped down on the other side to find another marker in front of the Old Corner Bookstore. This time, it was marked with a red "3 - I."
The trail continued to the right, up some steps, then down more steps, and right into a Super Mutant encampment. We fought our way through and found the next marker on the ground in front of Faneuil Hall. "5 - R."
The trail wrapped around the building and we nearly lost it beneath all the debris on the sidewalk. It was completely covered for a few feet. Then the trail picked back up across the road and continued on the sidewalk to the right.
Another marker right before we got to Pickman Gallery. "8 - D." It picked up again at the Old North Church. "1 - R." That's where the trail ended.
"Well, this is it. Let's see what we can find." Hancock lit a cigarette.
We walked inside. The church was nearly dilapidated. A hole in the wall allowed us to walk through to the other room with ease. There was an even bigger hole in the ceiling. Part of the roof and balcony had crashed down on top of the old pews. Craning my neck, I could see the church steeple high above our heads, crooked and threatening to tumble in, too.
"Old girl's seen better days," he muttered as we walked over broken boards and molded wood.
As soon as I stepped on a creaky board, Feral Ghouls crawled their way out from beneath the brown pews and bits of fallen rubble. I took out my pistol and aimed for their legs. Hancock followed suit with his shotgun, waiting for a few to get close. After we rendered them immobile, Hancock pressed his knife into their temples to finish them off.
I turned on the light on my Pip-Boy so we could see where we were going. To the right of the church entrance, nearly hidden beneath the fallen balcony, was a doorway that led down to the church basement. Inside was a passage that led deeper and deeper into the rocky, tunnel-like passages known famously as the original Freedom Trail from the Civil War.
"Somethin' ain't right about this place," Hancock muttered.
"It's old. It was used to free slaves back in the Civil War. Pastors would bring slaves from the outside and hide them underneath the churches. This passageway should lead out somewhere else, where the slave would be safe to flee."
"As noble a cause as it was, there was no mercy for the ones who were caught. They were lucky if they could make it to Mexico or Canada. But freedom's always worth the risk, right?"
"Yeah, and..." I stopped in my tracks. "Hang on, how do you know that?"
He stopped beside me and puffed on his cigarette. "... I... used to read. A lot."
"Really?"
"Yeah, but it ain't no big thing... Let's keep goin'."
As he waited for me to lead the way with my light, I couldn't help but wonder if I had touched a nerve somehow.
We came to a wall on the right that had the same marker on it as the ones on the Freedom Trail. It looked like the big ring around the center that held the letters, "Boston: The Freedom Trail," could move around in a circle. A red arrow was painted on it in the top center to point to the letters.
"I know where this is going," I said, already turning the letters in their order. I had to put in the right password.d All the letters and numbers we had found so far shared one word in common: Railroad.
After every correct letter, I'd hear a click inside the wall, like a lock unlatching itself. After all eight letters were put in, the wall to the left of the marker opened up.
"You've gotta be kiddin' me." Hancock stared at the moving wall. "That was too easy."
Ahead of us was a dark room. Even the light on my Pip-Boy seemed to be dim. As we stepped inside, a bright light flashed on and shined directly in our faces, blinding us. I shielded my sensitive eyes quickly as I had taken off my sunglasses after walking inside the church.
"Ah, shit!"
"What the hell?!"
Hancock's eyes were slowly adjusting as he squinted in the light, but I couldn't see a damn thing. Terrified of eye damage, I kept my head turned and eyes nearly shut.
"Hold it right there," said a woman's voice. "You went through a lot of trouble to arrange this meeting. But before we go any further, answer my questions. Who the hell are you?"
This was not what I was expecting. I'm being interrogated just on arrival? I thought they wanted people to find them. Were these truly the people that were supposed to help me?
"Why don't you explain to me who you are first?" I retorted, still unable to look at her.
"In a world full of treachery, suspicion, and hunters — we're the synths' only friends. We're the Railroad. So answer my question."
That's when I recognized her voice from the holotape. "I followed the Freedom Trail looking for the Railroad. I'm not your enemy."
"If that's true, you have nothing to fear. Who told you how to contact us?"
"A woman named Doctor Amari told me how to find you. You should know her."
"Very interesting. Last question. Why are you here?"
I attempted to look at her through the blinding light, but I simply couldn't. I reached for my bag to feel around for my sunglasses.
"Hands where we can see them!" she yelled.
"Hey!" Hancock yelled back at them, irritated. He could tell I was having difficulty. "We're here because we have a Courser chip. Does that mean anything to you? I suggest you treat us with a little more respect."
"You have... what? This is not a joking matter."
There was another voice. "Hey, I didn't know we were having a party. What gives with my invitation? ... Oh, I see. You invited our Courser-killer. Nice."
"Deacon, you're late. You're saying this intruder actually killed a Courser? That'd give even Glory a run for her money."
"D-Do I know you?" I asked.
"No, but I know you." I could hear the grin in his voice. "News flash, boss. They're kind of a big deal. If you're done interrogating them, you might wanna how these Courser-murdering machines a little courtesy. Just a thought. Oh, and you might wanna turn off these lights. This lady here has photosensitivity."
Shocked at the tidbit of personal information he knew about me, I was still relieved when the bright light was switched off and my eyes could adjust.
Standing before us was a woman with red hair and a scarf. She held a cigarette between her fingers, weight shifted to one leg. Beside her were two guards of sorts, one with a pistol and a paperboy cap, and the other with white hair and a huge minigun. Standing close beside her was a man in a white t-shirt and sunglasses, wearing what looked like a black pompadour wig.
"I owe you an apology," said the woman in the middle. "Anyone who kills a Courser is good in my book. I'm Desdemona, leader of the Railroad."
"Gwenora Rose Isham. Commonwealth Minutemen General. Hopefully, we can work something out."
"John Hancock, Mayor of Goodneighbor," Hancock added.
"What you're asking for puts us in a tricky position," Desdemona admitted.
Deacon interjected. "Dez, we totally need to let them in. They've got an intact Courser chip for God's sake!"
"That violates our security protocols."
"To hell with that. They killed a Courser! There's no way they're working for the Institute."
Desdemona sighed. "We're letting you into our headquarters," she told me. "You're the first outsider ever to be given this privilege. We'll discuss the details inside."
The other two beside her lowered their guns and led the way down the hall behind them. We followed Desdemona up a small set of stairs and into the back room. Hancock absently rested his hand on his gun. He clearly didn't trust any of this.
"Don't try anything," said Desdemona, looking over her shoulder at us.
"I just don't trust people that greet newcomers this way is all."
"I assure you, we have our reasons."
We were inside a circular room made of old brick, like the rest of the basement hallways. There were a few other people inside, sitting at terminals or working on papers. Machinery, circuitry, and gadgets lay around that I couldn't identify as to what they were used for. Bedrolls lay on the floor against the walls. A few shelves separated workstations, stocked with medical supplies, first aid, food, and water.
"Decoding the chip is a very delicate operation," said Desdemona. "A million things could go wrong — the least of which is losing the data. Fortunately, we have the right man for the job."
She stopped in front of a tall man with a very dark complexion and a thin beard and mustache. He wore blue overalls and a dirty t-shirt and gloves. There was a weird gadget on his head with various nick-knacks attached to it, like a pencil and a magnifying glass.
"Hey, Dez. You need somethin'?" he had a chipper, laid-back attitude. He eyed Hancock and me. "Who are these guys? New recruits?"
"Tom, our visitors here have a Courser chip."
"Whoa! For real? Oh, man, it's been ages!"
"Right. Some ground rules. Tom can get you the code, but once he's done, we get the Courser cihp."
"Bullshit," said Hancock.
"Institute tech is lightyears beyond what we have. And a Courser chip is the top of the line. I'm not going to get into the details. But that chip could save lives. Maybe even throw a wrench in some of the Institute's operations. So... hand over the chip." She held out her hand, palm facing up expectantly.
"I don't know. I might need this chip to... make something work later."
"This isn't a negotiation. This is a demand. To anybody else in the Commonwealth, all you have is two caps worth of salvage. With us that data is priceless. But we're not just going to give that away."
I hesitated before handing it to her. "I guess you're not leaving me much choice."
Hancock sighed in frustration. "I hope you know what you're doin'."
Desdemona handed the chip to Tom. "All right, Tom, make it happen."
Tom looked like a kid in a candy store. He snatched it from Desdemona's slender fingers and plugged it into a strangely shaped port on his computer. "All right, little Courser chip, let's have the circuit analyzer take a crack at you."
We took a seat in some aluminum chairs a few feet away from Tom's desk. Hancock looked a little uncomfortable; he put his elbows on his knees and leaned over in the chair, looking around the room with a shifty gaze. His knees started to bounce as he couldn't keep his feet still.
I couldn't see what was happening on Tom's screen. He muttered to himself excitedly. Excitement would turn to worry, and back into excitement as he worked on the computer. Desdemona put out her cigarette in an ashtray on the desk and leaned over his shoulder to watch.
I looked at Deacon who stood with his arms folded and back against the wall. He just smiled. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me; his sunglasses were too dark.
"I got you, you Insitute bastard! I got you! We got the code!" Tom inserted a holotape into the computer, and a few moments later, he ejected it and handed it to me.
"Will a holotape work the same as the chip?" I asked, taking it from Tom.
"Right as rain it will!"
I breathed a little easier now that it was done.
"Good work, Tom," said Desdemona.
"Not sure our luck will hold up next time, Dez."
"Start working on the rest of the chip. And you. I'd love to work with you more. Gwenora, right? Let me know if you're interested. But to be crystal clear, if you use that data to discover anything involving the Institute, you share it with us first. Otherwise, our relationship will be in jeopardy."
Hancock and I stood up. He glared at Desdemona through his narrowed, black eyes and stepped closer to me.
"What kind of work would we be doing together?" I inquired.
"If we're going to be dealing with each other more often, I need to know that we're on the same page. You know what a Synth is, right?"
"Of course."
"Good. The Institute treats Synths as their property. As tools. So we seek to free Synths from their bondage. Give them a chance at real life. I have a question. The only question that matters. Would you risk your life for your fellow man? Even if that man is a Synth?"
I thought of Nick when she asked me this. Nick risked his life for me before. I'd do the same for him, just as I would for Hancock, MacCready, Preston, or even Codsworth.
"I risk my life for people every day," I answered. "Makes no difference to me if it's a human or a Synth."
Hancock shot me a sideways smirk.
"Well said." Desdemona lit another cigarette and offered us one. Hancock and I politely declined. "Someone with your skills, your beliefs, normally we'd try to recruit you. But right now, we don't have the time to train up a new agent. There are, however, other valuable ways you can contribute. And in turn, we can help you. See Deacon for details. You're free to go."
"I'll think on it. Right now, I... have a lot of things I already need to do. But your cause seems just. I'll get back to you on it."
She nodded. "Take your time. And remember what I said. We'll know if you held out on us."