589. Gathering Another Batch of Materials

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And they both smiled—tight, crooked things. The kind of smile you make when you're bracing for impact but choosing hope anyway. The stars began to rise. Slowly, faintly. And Sanctuary's lanterns blinked on one by one, dotting the valley like tiny embers of something still burning.

The next morning came not with fanfare or alarms, but with the quiet hum of purpose—soft footsteps on gravel, the hiss of steam rising from makeshift kettles, and the gentle groan of Sanctuary waking once more. The battle was behind them, the scars still fresh, but the rhythm of rebuilding had begun to feel like a heartbeat again. Not desperate. Just steady.

Sico rose early, before the sun had fully cleared the distant ridge. His boots thudded softly against the wooden floor of his barracks quarters as he dressed, belting his sidearm and tugging on the same field coat he'd worn through the battle and the rebuild. A thread had begun to pull near the cuff, but he didn't mind. Some things didn't need mending yet.

He found Sarah already outside, arms crossed, back leaned against one of the storage shed's steel support beams. She wore her gear light today—no harness, just her sidearm and toolbelt slung low, boots laced tight and dusty. Her eyes were on the horizon, but her mind was already ten steps ahead.

"Sturges up yet?" she asked without turning.

Sico nodded. "Just finished yelling at a boy for stacking copper spools too close to the transformer. That's your warning."

Sarah smirked. "Good. He's awake enough to argue."

A few minutes later, they found him in the machine shed, elbow-deep in the guts of a busted transmitter. His hair was wilder than usual, and a mug of black coffee steamed dangerously close to a coil of exposed wiring. But his hands were moving with the confidence of a man who had long since accepted that his coffee might one day be the death of him.

"You break that thing just to fix it again?" Sarah asked as they walked in.

Sturges grunted without looking up. "Some people go fishing. I rewire old junk."

Sico stepped into the light. "We need your eyes on the storage intake. You've got ten minutes to clear your schedule."

Sturges looked up, finally registering the seriousness behind the easy tone. "You finally gonna show me what we bought?"

Sico nodded. "All of it."

That got him moving. He wiped his hands on a rag, finished his coffee in one brutal gulp, and grabbed his toolkit. The three of them stepped out into the morning sun.

They crossed the plaza near the outer wall where the two caravans had bedded down the night before. Royce's crew was already prepping for departure, their brahmin grumbling as packs were hoisted. Bren's people were slower, taking the extra time they'd earned by hauling in the bigger score. MacCready gave them a lazy wave from one of the towers. All clear.

The storage yard was quiet.

Not abandoned—just sealed. A stretch of steel fencing reinforced with ironwood slats, anchored with scrap-yard hinges and locked behind a chain mechanism only a few engineers knew how to work. Sico keyed in the pattern, and the gate squealed open.

Inside, the sun met steel.

Piles of it—rolled, cut, bundled. Steel beams stacked like bones, copper wire coiled in massive rings, rebar tied in crosses and racks. The fusion batteries were lined up against the east wall of the shed, sealed in foam and tagged with red paint to mark potential volatility. The Mark V turrets lay disassembled nearby, their cores wrapped in cloth, their gun arms looking less like weapons now and more like the curled limbs of resting giants.

It wasn't beautiful. But it was real. Tangible.

A wall, waiting to happen.

Sturges gave a low whistle.

"Damn," he muttered. "I thought you were bluffing."

"We don't bluff," Sarah said simply.

Sico stood back and watched as the engineer moved through the space, pulling cloth aside, tapping his knuckles against the steel to check for rust, squinting at cable ends to confirm their gauge and length. He ran his fingers along the plating from the vertebrate salvage, bent down to examine the ceramic insulation crates, and paused longest at the fusion cells.

He spoke as he worked.

"This here's enough steel to finish the gate, run frame lines for the north tower, and reinforce the inner wall around the reactor shed." Tap. Tap. Tap. "This copper? We can rewire every junction in the west quarter. Maybe finally get the water recycling plant running without the whole grid shorting every other week."

He opened one of the crates. Cement mix. Sealed. Dry.

"Cement's good. Clean. Real stuff, not the garbage the Gunners tried to move last year. We can lay a foundation that won't crack the first time it rains."

Sico and Sarah exchanged a glance.

"And the turrets?" Sico asked.

Sturges nodded. "Cores are solid. I'll need a day or two to rig new sensors—those got busted in transit—but once I swap out the targeting subroutines, they'll hold. Not Brotherhood quality, but better than anything we've had."

He straightened, brushing his palms off on his pant legs.

"Short answer?" he said. "It's enough."

Sarah let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"All of it?"

"For what we need right now? Yeah. This'll finish the gate, give us real coverage at three corners, and let us reinforce the med bay if the Institute tries another hit. Hell, we might even have enough to start prototyping the north bridge."

Sico nodded slowly. "Good."

Sturges stood in the quiet of the storage yard, a thin breeze tugging at the edge of his shirt as he ran a calloused hand down one of the steel girders. For a second, he just breathed in the smell of rust and resin—half memory, half future—and then he turned back to Sico and Sarah.

"If we can get another batch like this," he said, tapping his knuckles against the girder with a soft thud, "we can start fixing the buildings that got leveled during the battle."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was solid—anchored in the kind of quiet certainty that only someone who'd built something from nothing could possess.

Sarah raised an eyebrow, straightening up. "You serious?"

"As a fusion core in a rainstorm," Sturges said, stepping back and gesturing broadly to the organized chaos around him. "Look, we've been patching roofs with sheet metal and wishful thinking since the first mortar hit the south block. Half the residential units are still relying on tarps and canvas. We've been putting all our weight into defense—and that's good, that's smart—but if we really want Sanctuary to hold for the long haul, people need a roof that doesn't flap in the wind."

He paced a short arc, warming up now. "You give me another shipment with steel, rebar, maybe some support beams, glass if we're lucky—we can rebuild three structures minimum. Four if we don't mind getting creative with scrap wood. We're talking permanent shelters. Real doors. Sealed walls. Insulation."

Sarah was already picturing it—she could see the scaffolding going up around the gutted library near the square, the bunkhouse behind the mess hall finally rebuilt with heat and plumbing. She could see the look on old Marcy Long's face if someone finally fixed the north block corner unit she'd been squatting in since the battle—where half the ceiling had caved in, and the wind whispered through cracks at night like ghosts trying to sing lullabies.

Sico folded his arms, watching Sturges with that measured calm he carried into battle and bargaining tables alike. He didn't speak for a few seconds—just took it in. The quiet resolve in Sturges' voice. The way Sarah's posture had shifted, already turning the idea into steps, into motion. Into a plan.

Finally, he said, "How fast could you get started if we had the material?"

Sturges blinked. "I mean, I'd want to bring on two more crews. Folks with framing experience. We'd have to pull power lines off the main grid to keep tools running—Al's gonna love that—but if we start on the library or the bunkhouse, we're talking foundation to roof in five, six days, easy. Might need longer if we run into old sewer lines or foundation damage, but that's just part of the game."

Sarah stepped closer, rubbing a smudge of grease from her palm with her thumb. "And if we run another broadcast? Let people know we're buying again—not just for walls and turrets, but for rebuilding homes…"

"More caravans'll come," Sico finished.

Sturges gave a slow nod. "You bet your ass they will. Traders love two things—profit and a place that's not burning. If word gets out that we're not just standing, but growing? You'll see folks coming from as far as Quincy."

There was silence for a beat. Not hesitation—just the weight of it sinking in.

They weren't just talking about scrap anymore.

They were talking about hope. Structure. Stability.

Home.

Sico exhaled through his nose and turned to Sarah.

"Let's get another list drawn up—what we'd need for the first three builds. I want it mapped, detailed, and marked by priority. Which buildings. Which materials. Which crews."

Sarah nodded, already halfway there in her head. "I'll get with Dean and Arlen. They know which support beams we can salvage and what's beyond fixing."

Sico turned back to Sturges. "And you—get your people ready. Quietly. I don't want to promise anything until we have the materials."

"You got it," Sturges said. "I'll keep it under the hat."

Sturges gave Sico a nod and turned back to his inspection, already pulling a faded pencil stub from behind his ear and beginning to mark rough estimates directly onto the crate lids. He was mumbling to himself now—measurements, priorities, maybe a curse or two about the weld quality on one of the turret mounts—but it was the kind of focused muttering that meant he was already building it in his mind.

Sarah took a step back, crossing her arms, the early sunlight catching the edge of her jawline as she scanned the rows of bundled steel and heavy rebar like a tactician reviewing a battlefield. There was a look on her face—half pride, half burden. The kind that said she saw both the opportunity and the weight of what they'd just taken on.

Sico stood silent for a moment, letting the shape of this new direction settle in his mind. It wasn't a surprise, not exactly. They'd always known they couldn't just build walls and expect peace to follow. But hearing it from Sturges like that—clear, plain, no-nonsense—somehow made it more real.

Then, softly, as if thinking aloud, he said, "We can also bring in Hancock."

Sarah blinked, her gaze shifting toward him. "Hancock?"

Sico nodded. "Him and his scavenger team. They've got eyes on most of the northeast ruins. Know all the pre-war storage zones and abandoned construction sites like the back of their hands."

Sturges straightened a little, interested now. "That ghoul's crew still working out of Lexington?"

"Yeah," Sico said. "Right now they're busy. Curie sent them on a deep run for medical supplies—chems, sterile bandages, stim packs, anything that didn't melt in the sun. They're good at that kind of thing—quiet, fast, not greedy. But once they're back, it might be worth asking."

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, brushing the dust out. "It'd save us a hell of a lot of caps. Even if they bring back half a shipment, that's fewer crates we have to pay top dollar for."

"Exactly." Sico's voice had steadied again. "We can offer them trade if they don't want full cap pay. Food packs, stim storage, even turret components if Hancock's still got that mess of synths hounding his district."

Sturges was nodding. "They brought me an untouched crate of titanium-reinforced I-beams last year. Never asked how they got it. But I used those beams to finish the southern bridge. I trust 'em."

"And Hancock?" Sarah asked, turning slightly.

Sico smiled. "Hancock's not just some rogue with a revolver and a silver tongue anymore. He's on the Council now. Voted in by three settlements, not just ours. And more than that—he's loyal. He bled for this place."

Sarah gave a slow nod, considering. "Alright. But if we're asking, we should ask smart. Let Curie know first. If she's counting on them for something urgent, we can't pull them away for scrap just because we're trying to rebuild a bunkhouse."

"We won't pull them," Sico said. "We'll ask. Quietly. Let Hancock decide if his people have the capacity."

Sturges stepped between two steel crates and looked over his shoulder. "If they bring in even a few loads from the old city docks or the Malden scrapyard, we can divert the rest of this stockpile to structural builds. Hell, I could reinforce the schoolhouse."

"That'd go a long way," Sarah said. "Some of the kids are still sleeping in the corner rooms at the med bay."

The conversation quieted again, not out of silence but out of consideration. All three of them could see the next path opening—less a road than a series of choices. Materials. People. Resources. Every step forward meant a dozen branches of labor and risk. And still, they were moving. Always moving.

"I'll write to him tonight," Sico said. "Handwritten. Piper can get it relayed through Radio Freedom's private channel. Hancock trusts her voice more than anyone's."

"Good call," Sarah agreed.

Sturges gave a low chuckle. "You know, if you keep making decisions like this, people are gonna start thinking you like being in charge."

Sico snorted. "I don't like it. I just don't like seeing things fall apart."

Sturges gave him a look that said he understood more than he let on. Then he grabbed a nearby marker and began writing directly onto the crates—white, bold letters: "TURRET BASES - NORTH WALL." Next one: "STEEL - GATE FINISH." His work was messy, but it made the storage yard feel different. Not like a graveyard of old world wreckage, but like a toolbox. Ready. Waiting.

Sarah exhaled and turned to go. "I'll start drafting that materials list. If we want another broadcast before week's end, we'll need to finalize what we're asking for."

Sico nodded. "Make sure Dean and Arlen weigh in."

"They already did. They're arguing over doorframes."

Sico cracked a tired smile. "Good. Means we're getting somewhere."

Sarah had just reached the edge of the storage yard, one hand already brushing the dust from her thigh as she turned toward the central path that led back into the heart of Sanctuary, when Sico called after her.

"Hold up."

She turned, boot scuffing on gravel. "Yeah?"

He took a few steps forward, his voice low but steady—the way it always was when a decision wasn't just being made, but being set into motion.

"I want Piper to put out another broadcast."

Sarah arched a brow. "Already?"

Sico gave a single nod. "Yeah. Let's not wait. We're moving faster than we thought, and Sturges was right—we've got enough now to finish the gate and stabilize the outer towers, but if we're going to start rebuilding homes, real buildings… we're gonna need a lot more."

She exhaled slowly, glancing back at the rows of crates behind him—the skeleton of something bigger, something solid. "Alright. What do you want her to say?"

"Keep it clean. Direct. No desperation, no half-promises," Sico said. "Tell the Commonwealth we're buying construction-grade materials. Steel, rebar, cable, concrete mix. Wood—salvaged hardwood or treated if they have it. Ceramic insulation. Same bonuses for intact, unspoiled parts."

He paused, narrowing his eyes a little, thinking it through out loud.

"And make sure it's clear that Sanctuary's a secured settlement. That traders are safe within our walls. They'll get food, water, and clean bedding while they're here. And we pay fair. That part matters."

Sarah was already nodding, committing it to memory. "Got it. I'll find her before midday. She's probably at the relay hub with Nat."

As she turned back toward town, Sico called one more time.

"And Sarah?"

She stopped again. "Yeah?"

"Tell Magnolia we're gearing up for another expenditure."

That drew a smirk. "You want me to give her time to brace, or just drop it on her cold?"

Sico shrugged. "Up to you. Either way, she'll have the ledger open before I finish the sentence."

Sarah's laugh was dry and short, but not without warmth. "You're probably right."

Then she was gone, her footsteps fading as she jogged toward the market lane where Piper's makeshift broadcast tower leaned against the side of the old Red Rocket truck stop. The morning haze was burning off now, golden sunlight spilling down over Sanctuary's still-scabbed skyline, and all around them, the air smelled less like fire and more like wood, metal, and forward motion.

Sico turned back to the crates, to the smell of fresh insulation and machine oil, to the sound of Sturges arguing with himself about load weights. He could already feel it coming—the next wave of motion, the next set of problems.

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• 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:-