[h3][b][u][color=0076a3]High Elder Renald - Vault 0 War Room[/color][/u][/b][/h3]

High Elder Renald stood before a large table in the center of the room, garbed in the robe of an elder.  A Pip-Boy 2000 laid in front of him, displaying a wall of text on its screen.  Next to the Pip-Boy were various maps and reports, some cleanly typed upon pre-war paper, others crudely handwritten on the backs of pages stained by 200 years of exposure to the elements.  This was the beating heart of the Brotherhood of Steel, from which they coordinated their forces across their territory.  Even without the Calculator, Vault 0 was a stronghold without compare across the territory of the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel.

The distinct noise of a high tech door opening echoed throughout the room as Renald's guest arrived.  A man fully enclosed in a red hazmat suit bearing the rank markings of a Head Scribe stepped through the threshold.

"Head Scribe Wainwright, it's good that you have finally arrived," the High Elder spoke, unfazed by the man's unusual garb.  "Have a seat, have much to discuss."

"Of course, High Elder," sounded a speaker on the scribe's helmet, conveying his voice imperfectly through the suit.  "Is this about the airship expeditions, or are Vault 0's computer systems acting up again?"

"Nothing like that, Head Scribe," the High Elder responded, "That salvaged vault supercomputer hasn't given us any trouble since the last repairs were made.  We have other matters to discuss.  As High Elder, it is my responsibility to ensure that efficiency of our operations is not compromised, and I require a specialist in technical matters in this respect.  Additionally, I believe of someone with a scribe's background may prove useful in diplomatic dealings of nations that place higher worth of scientific endeavors than martial ones, but we will cross that bridge when we come to it, so pay it no heed for now."

"Very well," replied Wainright, as he took a seat.  "What would you like me to look over?"

The High Elder slid the Pip-Boy over to where the scribe sat.  "This is our most recent data regarding shipments to and from our facilities.  My first concern is the Buena Vista plant.  To my knowledge we've finished construction of the recon airships, so why are aircraft components still being shipped there?"

"The components are for work on the Hellion Bomber," Wainright answered.  "Your predecessor was particularly invested in getting it operational and mass-produced, and had us working night and day on it.  With the airship project finished, we have resumed our previous work."

"Ah yes, the Calculator's prototype aircraft," Renald reminisced, somewhat pleased at the news.  "What sort of progress has been made on it?"

"Last I heard, there was some debate over what sort of robotic systems should be used run it.  Possibilities include sizing down the computer systems from one of the vaults we scavenged, or augmenting its current electronics with a Mr. Gutsy processor to handle piloting and targeting functions" Wainwright stopped himself, realizing that he was rambling about technical details.  "Should I presume you intend to uphold the Brotherhood's ban on the use of CODE-programmed organic processors?"

"If you are referring to Robobrains, than that is correct," Renald clarified.  "The Calculator was proof of the unsoundness of that concept, and my predecessors were wise to ban the use of such dangerous and immoral technology."

"Very well," Wainwright stated, satisfied with the answer.  "What else did you want me to look over?" Wainwright asked.

"Scroll down to Chicago," the High Elder ordered.  We're expecting a shipment weapons to the Vault 0 region for the new initiates, but according to this, there's been nothing outgoing from our plant in Chicago.  What is going on over there?"

"Industrial accident.  I'm told it was because a junior scribe was mistakenly placed in charge of something beyond his ability.  Minimal damage, no deaths, but production was halted for a while," Wainwright reported matter-of-factly, not even looking up from the pip-boy.

"And nobody thought to tell me?" Renald asked, visibly upset.  "This may look like a minor setback to the scribes out there safe in Chicago, but out here it means a critical delay in the arming and training of our troops!  Inform all scribes that any mishap that disrupts our military operations must be reported up the chain of command, regardless of the severity.  We may be blessed by a relative calm, but that is no excuse for laxity."

"Affirmative, High Elder, all accidents will be reported." the chastised scribe conceded.  "There will be no more repeats of this miscommunication."

"See that there isn't," ordered the High Elder sternly but calmly.  "And if there's anything else in these reports that stand out to you, let me know."

"Err, actually, High Elder," Wainwright said, putting the Pip-Boy down, "There is something unusual I'm seeing. 
 A large shipment of Mirelurk Eggs from Tekisasu was sent to Deathclaw territory on the Kansas-Colorado border. 
 Is this correct?"

The High Elder chuckled, his anger from the previous matter seemingly gone. "You read that right.  A while back, some of the Deathclaws stationed in Missouri developed a taste for Mirelurk meat, and now one of the Matriarchs has requested a large quantity of Mirelurk eggs in place of the usual live Brahmin shipments.  I'm not sure if she wants to eat them as they are or hatch them first, but that's their business."

"Feeding eggs to Deathclaws.  Arming tribals.  Appointing a Glowing One to office of Head Scribe.  The elders back in California will no doubt be quite perplexed our doctrines when we re-establish contact," the Head Scribe joked, having taken notice of his superior's lightened mood.

"Let them be perplexed.  They've done little but dig their own grave with their foolish orthodoxy.  And when they contrast their failures against the success wrought by the ideals of Barnaky, Latham, and the Warrior, they'll see the wisdom in our ways.  Whether or not they'll have the humility to concede their mistakes and change their ways, I cannot say.  Now, if there is nothing else, you are dismissed."

The scribe got out of his chair and walked out of the room.  The door noisily shut behind him, as Renald thought to himself.  As the saying goes, there is always another enemy, but with the lull in conflicts at the moment, the Brotherhood finally had breathing room to re-establish contact with the other Brotherhood Elders.  Unfortunately, finding the remnants of the "original" Brotherhood would prove tricky.  The western elders were rumored to have gone into hiding after the thrashing that the NCR gave them, and the expedition to the east was supposedly defeated by the Enclave.

For now, Renald's strategy would be to seek out new trading partners in the east and west, and from there they would be in a better position to track down the rest of the Brotherhood of Steel.  One airship would be headed towards New Vegas, an independent city-state said to be defended by an army of remotely controlled robots, not unlike the late Calculator's forces.  The second would head to the ruins of Boston, where there was rumored to be a scientific community specializing in highly advanced robotics.

It would not be long before the Midwestern Brotherhood of Steel would become known from coast to coast.