Chapter Twenty-Five
It took another two days to reach Hardingville again, though this time they purposefully avoided the barn that the Deathclaw was from. Otherwise, they nearly followed the same path back. They stopped near one of the few trees, black, bare, and dead, for the night, and set out the next morning, and reached Hardingville by mid afternoon.
When they finally reached the town, aching feet and hungry, they were more welcomed. Guards immediately rushed Patrick and Colonel Granger (only after he got out of his power armor, like before) to Mrs. Kildaer's office, but the suspicious glances and nervous shuffling by the other townsfolk was still evident.
"So, did you deal with our problem?" Mrs. Kildaer asked, crossing her fingers on her desk.
"Well, not exactly," Patrick said.
"Not exactly?" Mrs. Kildaer asked. "What do you mean?"
"We weren't aware that you were going to send us to take on super mutants, something that neither I nor Colonel Granger had experienced before," Patrick said.
"They are monsters," Mrs. Kildaer said, her voice gone icy with hatred. "Cannibals, murderers, thieves, and not much better than those ghouls or raiders that always stumble here. Those… super mutants are brutal monsters, destroying our buildings and crops whenever they try to come here. Cowards that flee when we shoot at them. They would be no problem to take care of if you would actually just do it."
"They didn't fire back and would retreat because they didn't want to fight you," Patrick replied. "They only want to live in peace and help the wasteland, and want to help Hardingville."
"Well they can bloody well help us by going away," Mrs. Kildaer snarled. Despite her appearance as a kindly old woman, right now she looked dangerous and ferocious, an elderly wolf that, though maybe not as strong or agile as before, would defend her territory with all her might and cunning. It scared Patrick.
"One of them saved our life, killing a god-damned Deathclaw!" Patrick exclaimed. "I would have been dead right now if one hadn't shown up. If anything, they are protecting you right now from the many things the wasteland could throw at you."
Mrs. Kildaer growled. "We can handle ourselves. Now, if you want to come back to Hardingville ever again, you will go back and kill them all." She stood up, walking over to the door and opening it. "Good day gentlemen."
Patrick and Colonel Granger rose from their seats. "Before we leave, we need more supplies," Patrick said.
"Fine. Leroy at the general store can help you," Mrs. Kildar said, still furious. "The guards will take you there."
"Thank you," Patrick said, and was lead out of the room, the council building, and onto the street.
"Oh, and Mr. Auxiliary," Mrs. Kildaer shouted behind them, making Patrick turnaround. "We don't have a water chip that we can part with. We are down to our final one as well. So don't even bother asking again."
Patrick growled, then stormed out.
Colonel Granger followed behind, and leaned over to Patrick, whispering so the guards won't hear anything. "At this point, I think I'd rather deal with the super mutants than these bastards."
"But if Hardingville won't work with the super mutants, what option do we have when we get back to New California?" Patrick asked. Colonel Granger was silent, so he must not have had a good answer.
When the walked into the General store, a small, balding man with brown hair around his ears, and glasses on his nose, perched on a stood behind the counter looked up. "You must be the new folks everyone has been talking about," the shopkeeper, who must have been Leroy that Mrs. Kildaer mentioned earlier, said, looking Patrick and Colonel Granger up and down, though seemed surprise that they looked like him and not like some mutant.
"We just need to get some supplies, then we will be on our way," Patrick said.
"Alright, what do you need?"
Boxes of 5.56mm and .44 Magnum bullets, several energy cells for Colonel Granger's Tesla gun, and a week's worth of canned food that was either pre-war or made by the people of Hardingville were sitting on the counter when Leroy began to count up the value of the assembled goods.
"Let's see… 100, 200… 300… 350… four hundred and twenty eight," Leroy said, adjusting the glasses on his nose.
"What? This up north would have been not much than 200!" Patrick exclaimed.
"My shop, my rules," Leroy said. "And if you don't like it, you can bugger off."
Patrick thought about it for a moment. He needed the food and the ammo, as he hadn't really gotten any supplies for a while, even from scavenging dead bodies or old houses. Finally he grumbled and reached for his pocket to grab his wallet, and began to count out the Assiniboian Pound notes inside.
"Uh, what are those?" Leroy asked.
"Money," Patrick replied, slightly confused. "That's what you want, right?"
Leroy shook his head. "Well… we don't use that paper stuff from Assiniboia. We use something with actual value."
"Okay, so what then?" Patrick asked.
"Bottle caps."
"What?" Colonel Granger exclaimed. "Bottle caps?"
"The bottle caps from Nuka-Cola bottles mostly, but also the old beer bottles and whatever other drinks used to come in a bottle."
"Why do you use them and not, like, actual money?" Patrick asked.
"It was about the only damn thing we agreed that we had a decent number of, impossible to replicate to make counterfeit versions, and would stick with a certain value." Leroy adjusted the glasses on his nose again. "Though most people here just barter."
Patrick had heard at one point that some settlements had used bottle caps as a currency, as well as those ring pulls from old aluminum cans. Before Assiniboia incorporated areas like Melita into the Dominion, they made do with simple bartering, though there were some old timers that said the hides of radgophers were used as the basis for all currency. Patrick was glad he didn't have to haul anything like that to the store every time he had to pick something up.
"Well, I don't have any bottle caps," Patrick said. "All I have is the Assiniboian pounds."
"No bottle caps, no business," Leroy said.
"Well, could we at least barter then?" Patrick asked.
Leroy looked at Patrick through his glasses, drumming his finger on the desk. "Well, what do you have to trade?"
Patrick thought for a moment, before he slung his backpack off his shoulders, and pulled out the partially disassembled service rifle from the back of the bag. Even though he hadn't used it at all since he left Melita after the raider attack, he knew how to put it back together, and quickly reassembled it.
"How about this?"
Leroy blinked through his glasses. "A gun, huh?"
"It's about the only thing I have that I can give up."
Leroy reached over and picked it up, but nearly dropped it. "Not really a gun person, frankly," the shopkeep said. As if to prove his lack of knowledge, he had it pointed at Colonel Granger and Patrick when he tried to pull the trigger. Fortunately, there were no bullets in it, and the safety was on. Nothing happened.
Patrick snatched the gun away. "Easy there! You could have killed us!"
Leroy didn't even flinch, his lack of concern for his customers chilling. "Well then. So, if you give me that gun and any ammunition that goes with it, I'll let you take all this. Deal?"
"It uses the 5.56 bullets, and I think I will need those," Patrick said.
"Ahh… well… fine, I'll take the gun. But if you ever come back, it's bottlecaps, you got me?"
"I don't think we'll be coming back for a long time," Patrick said. "It's not like Hardingville is exactly… open to outsiders."
Leroy shrugged. "I know I don't mind dealing with you outsiders. That's why they put me here in the shop. But yeah, everyone around here isn't too keep on dealing with people not from here."
"I bet that will come to bite you in the ass someday," Patrick said. "Everyone in the Wasteland needs to work together to survive."
"We work just fine by ourselves," Leroy said, as if it was gospel. "But good day to you folks."
Patrick and Colonel Granger walked out of the store, and down the street, back to where Granger's power armor stood.
"So, do you still want to help these people?" Colonel Granger asked when they finally got to the metal suit of armor.
"Do you?" Patrick asked.
Colonel Granger stopped right before he turned the wheel to open up the armor. "When I first heard of the town, made up of people from a Vault, I thought they would be perhaps the closest thing to an actual America as the Enclave always talked about. And… well, if they are descendents of pre-War Americans, they took the worst qualities of them, and magnified it many times over."
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"I've had some time to think about it. Two days, to be exact," Granger said, leaning against the power armor. "Americans, before the war, before either the Enclave or the Vaults, had some very deep rooted beliefs. We were proud, brave, free. We were a roll up your sleeves, can-do kind of people. We did the impossible, just to prove that it wasn't. We conquered an entire continent, built the first atom bomb, put the first man on the moon, achieved great feats in science, engineering and culture.
"But all that made us arrogant. American superiority, the belief that we were the historical exception, had blinded us. We had flaws as well, flaws we refused to deal with: racism, bigotry, hatred, paranoia, greed, aggression, the fanatic desire for individualism and fame while selfishly relying on others for help, ingratitude, the fear of anything that wasn't us. And because of that fear, that fear of Communism, drove the US to become a dictatorship that we swore to never become. Well, we really weren't a true dictatorship like the Commies, or the Nazis, but we weren't the democratic nation we claimed to be. And then we helped destroy the world in panic when we thought that China was going to take us over." Granger sighed. "Perhaps the one thing that the Great War did was prove that it wasn't the case, that American Exceptionalism was a myth. After all, I'm pretty sure China, Russia, all those European nations, are just as much in ruins and destroyed as we are. We needed that kick to the groin to remind us that we weren't special. And it seems like some people didn't get the message. America needs to get back to its roots: welcome anyone and everyone, no matter their skin color, their religion, or their language; freedom, and justice and liberty for all."
"That didn't really answer my question," Patrick said as Colonel Granger finally opened up his power armor, and climbed in, letting it close behind him.
"You weren't listening then. Those guys in Hardingville, they haven't learnt the lesson yet. Most of the Enclave still hasn't. In fact, I don't know if most of the world has learned it yet. If they won't help others, or even offer the slightest chance of opening up, then leave 'em. Let them rot until they learn the lesson. I just hope it's sooner than later." Colonel Granger took a deep breath. "At least, that is what I would do. Now."
Patrick nodded. "Well, I'm sure we can help the super mutants someway, I'm sure."
The hike back to New California took three days, more because they started late in the afternoon to get out of Hardingville as soon as possible, and didn't bother waiting till the next morning. Patrick had managed to shoot a few radgophers and took their tails on the trek, and an independent caravan came by and they had a short chat, but otherwise it was uneventful.
But when they got back to the town of big green men, they found it a scene of disorganized chaos.
"What's going on?" Patrick asked no one in particular as they got closer, seeing super mutants hauling boxes and crates from place to place, with a bunch of wagons hooked up to Brahmin and Sleipnir's gathered around the large hall. A couple of the mutants saw Colonel Granger in his power armor show up, and they hefted up their laser rifles to point it at the Enclave officer.
"Whoa!" Patrick said, raising his hand and slipping between the super mutants and power armored soldier. "What's going on?"
"Oh, it the good metal guy," one of the mutants said, slightly lowering his gun.
"You sure?" the other asked.
"Well, the no metal guy that talked to Sam-you-el is here as well, so it better not be."
"Oh, right," the second super mutant said, and lowered his gun. But before Patrick could ask what was going on, they walked away, into the crowd.
"What is going on?" Patrick asked for the third time in so many minutes, more exasperated.
"Maybe Samuel knows," Colonel Granger said.
They looked through the hall, which was mostly cleared out, and then around the area. No one they asked seemed to know where Samuel was, but when they were asked what was going on, the super mutants only said "going away."
Patrick and Colonel Granger finally found Samuel, loading his minigun into one of the carts.
"What's going on?" Patrick asked. "Why are you packing up?"
Samuel turned around slowly, and saw Patrick and Colonel Granger standing there.
"Ahh, you two," Samuel said with a sigh. "A couple of days ago, we were attacked by a group from the Brotherhood of Steel, in the metal power armor like your friend's there. Three of us were killed, and many others injured, but we killed all of them to a man. But even before we got back, we found a note on their leader with the orders to wipe us out to help the people of Hardingville. We realized that you must have failed in your mission."
"Yeah, the Overseer wouldn't listen to us. She pretty much kicked us out for not removing you and the other super mutants," Patrick said.
"I know you did your best. But we held a meeting, and decided that the best thing to bring peace to the area would be if we just left." Samuel leaned over and picked up a box. From the smell that assaulted Patrick's nose, it was a whole lot of meat, but with the stench of a preservative that Patrick knew all too well from home, which was used to keep meat at least edible for months, if not years, if not as tasty. Another University of Manitoba invention.
"Where are you going?" Colonel Granger asked.
"South. Just south," Samuel said. "Even if we went north to Radiation Alley, we would still be seen as a threat, and eventually someone will come to try to wipe us out. So just for the best that we leave North Dakota all together." Samuel set the box in the back of the wagon. "We'll go to… Kansas. Maybe Ar-kansas. I looked at the maps and old books. They are far away, and not many lived there way back when. Hopefully fewer do now, and those that do would accept us."
"I'm sorry I couldn't help," Patrick said. "I wish I could have done something."
"It's alright, Auxiliary." Samuel said, using the name the DBS had given Patrick. "You have shown us that not all humans want to kill us on sight. That more than anything gives me hope that someday we may find someone that won't want to exterminate us." Samuel grabbed something that was wrapped in cloth, an old jacket of some kind that long outlived its usefulness. "I would like to thank you for your efforts. Here."
Patrick took the wrapped package and opened it up. A shiny laser rifle stared back at him.
"Wow, this is pretty cool," Patrick said, carefully picking it up. It was fairly light, much to Patrick's surprise. He'd thought that the shiny metal made it a lot heavier.
"It's one from one of our fallen brothers, Striker" Samuel admitted. "It helped take down seven Brotherhood attackers before Striker was finally brought down by overwhelming numbers. There is also eighteen or so fission cells for ammunition right now, and I'm sure you can find more. I hope it will serve you well."
"Well, thank you," Patrick said, grabbing it and holding it in his hands. "It's very generous of you."
Samuel smiled, or at least as much as his mutated face would allow him. "I hope you will follow the path of peace, and only help those that need it, like we did. At the very least, let that be our legacy here in New California."
Patrick nodded. "I'll try."
Samuel offered his hand, and Patrick shook it, and then after Colonel Granger shook hands, he stiffened and gave a salute.
"Good luck down there," Colonel Granger said.
Samuel smiled again. Patrick and Colonel Granger turned around and began to walk away when Samuel stopped.
"Wait! Auxiliary!"
Patrick stopped and turned around. Samuel came back over.
"Do you need a ride?"
"What?"
"A sleipnir? We have many extras, which a couple friendly humans once helped us train several, and taught us how to train them, so we could trade. The trading didn't work so well, and the humans, I think their names was Howard and Charles, vanished one day. We can't bring them all with us. You can take one of the trained ones, if you wish."
Patrick blinked. "That's very generous of you. But yeah, I can use one."
The one that Patrick got was named Hardtack, which Samuel assured him was a fast sleipnir, "the fastest that we have ever seen." Patrick wasn't so sure. The sleipnir was a bit feisty, possibly on the verge of becoming wild again, but with Patrick's soft words and experience with sleipnir's, Hardtack was able to stand still long enough to let Patrick saddle and ride him. Though Hardtack was a bit rusty from lack of riding (he was one of the smaller sleipnir's, perhaps 20 or so hands high, so maybe the super mutants were nervous about hurting him), but Patrick was soon trotting around the nearly empty pen in a couple hours as the super mutants were packing up. Some watched Patrick bringing the eight legged beast under control, and even began to experiment with some moves, like sidestepping and jumping, though Hardtack wasn't used to either. Some of them applauded and cheered Patrick, other's watched in amusement.
The super mutants and the few humans that still wanted to follow them finished loading their caravan, and moved out as the sun began to set, their shadows stretching long over the prairie as Colonel Granger and Patrick, sitting on Hardtack after a day of riding and practicing, watched.
"Well, that's that," Colonel Granger said, turning around. "So what now?"
"Better go see if we can find those blueprints for Project Pegasus," Patrick thought. "Samuel said they would be near the airport, which sounds like was on the southern side of the city."
"Sounds good to me. Shouldn't be that far away."
The outskirts of the city that Samuel and the super mutants had set up the now abandoned New California was, if anything, a small suburb of the larger city. Bismarck, before the War of 2077, would have been maybe just about the size of Brandon, maybe a bit bigger. It was the state capital of North Dakota, and the former capital of the Northern Commonwealth, one of the thirteen "superstates" created a long time ago.
Now, only three massive, overlapping craters had scoured the majority of the city off the face of the earth. Most of the stories that Patrick heard of the nuclear weapons that made the modern wasteland was smaller, but more radioactive weapons were used instead. "Neutron" bombs, some called it: drop a lot of radiation, but not as destructive.
Bismarck, however, had direct hits that obliterated everything: buildings, trees, people… everything. A few buildings on the very far edge were spared, but even they were almost all collapsed and crumbling, with only grey, radioactive dirt, the occasional chunk of concrete and steel half buried in the ground to show that anything may have once been here. Patrick's Geiger counter didn't even click as they stood a short distance of the crater, but he wasn't feeling adventurous enough to go check Ground Zero. And it was silent. Patrick couldn't hear anything: no birds, no wind, now creaking doors or groaning buildings. Silence.
"Jesus. Winnipeg got off very lucky," Patrick said, staring at the crater. He tried to picture the capital of Assiniboia as nothing more than a few, radioactive craters. The images just wouldn't form in his mind.
"I just hope that China got it as bad as this," Colonel Granger said in a low voice.
They eventually left the crater side, and explored the southern side of Bismarck. Several entire streets, mostly large warehouses and offices, were spared from the destruction of the rest of the city. In fading paint or signs that looked like they were ready to fall at any moment, Patrick could see the names of pre-war companies and businesses, some of which could still be seen in Assiniboia to the north, on the warehouses, retail centers, and offices: Super Duper Mart, General Atomics, RobCo, Radiation King, Poseidon Energy…
"Ball Aerospace!" Patrick exclaimed, pointing to a short office building just down the street, jumping off of Hardtack's back. Only after he had landed on the ground did he realize how loud he had been.
"Awrroooooo!" a loud, ear piercing howl hit Patrick's ears, making him freeze in place. Colonel Granger also stopped and looked around.
"That doesn't sound good," Colonel Granger said.
The scampering of paws, the growls and pants of hungry, angry canines filled the street. Out of the shadows, a dozen wild, mangy mutts ranging in all sizes, with patches of fur missing and sickly green and red skin showing through, glaring eyes and vicious teeth all raced toward Patrick and Colonel Granger.
Patrick grabbed the assault rifle strapped to his backpack, flipped the safety off, and depressed the trigger.
Tata-tata-tata-tata! The automatic fire quickly burnt through all 24 rounds in the magazine. Patrick swung his weapon back and forth as he jogged backwards, but most of the 5.56mm bullets missed their targets. Several did hit the wild dogs, but none of them went down.
Colonel Granger stood still in the middle of the street and pulled out a laser pistol from his hip, firing it at the dogs. In his other hand, he grabbed a bent piece of steel, and swung it at whatever animal got to close. A couple went down with a whimper, one burst into flames and burnt into a pile of ashes, but they were too quick. A couple tried to headbutt or bite at Colonel Granger's armor, but the metal armor was too much for their teeth, so no damage was caused. The Encalve soldier scowed at one that kept headbutting and gnashing at Colonel Granger's leg, so he wound up, and kicked the dog. The force was enough to send the dog flying through the air, landing with a crunch as several bones were broken. The dog didn't get up.
Patrick tried to fumble for a new magazine and load it, but he stumbled on a pothole on the street, and the fully loaded magazine clip fell out of his hand. He threw down the assault rifle, and grabbed the .44 revolver off his hip, and stopped moving backwards. One, a rather large mutt compared to the others, was running straight at Patrick. He pulled the hammer down, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The .44 round went through one eye, shredded the brain, and went through the back of the skull. The dog went bonelessly limp in mid stride, and slid to a stop in front of Patrick.
But other dogs were still trying to get at Patrick, even as he started to back up again. He tried to aim his revolver at another dog, but they were faster and not charging headlong at Patrick. Each additional shot of his .44 missed the dogs he was aiming at. He pulled the trigger again, but the chamber clicked empty.
"Damnit!" Patrick cried out. "Where's a gun when I need it?" Four dogs were closing in on him now, all of them snarling and growling.
Colonel Granger turned around to see Patrick several meters behind him. He aimed his laser pistol, and fired, even as a smaller dog kept jumping, snarling, and biting at his armor. He managed to hit one of the dogs, but missed the other three.
"What about the laser gun you just got?" Colonel Granger shouted.
Patrick nearly stopped mid stride as he remembered that gun. He had shoved it into this backpack, with the butt still stick out. He reached behind him and grabbed it, aiming it at the closest dog. He pulled the trigger.
Patrick was surprised at the lack of recoil compared to a normal ballistic gun. It also felt lighter than a normal gun, which meant that it was easier to aim. The problem was that because of the inner mechanics, the crystals that focused and strengthened the laser, it wasn't very accurate at really long distances, off by several degrees the further away you got. But this wasn't long distance… 40 feet, at most. A superheated red laser fired from the weapon and impacted the dog in the chest. It yelped and fell over, trashing on the ground as it struggled to breath.
Patrick couldn't focus on the dog he just shot, as there were now five others trying to get at him to tear his throat out. He aimed the laser rifle again, and shot. Another dog went down. A third was killed a moment later, gasping in agony as its muzzle was incinerated. Colonel Granger's laser pistol also took down another dog. The last one got right up to Patrick, and only a sudden jerk of his leg prevented the vicious mutt from taking a bite of his leg. Patrick turned the laser rifle in his hand and smashed the stock right into the dog's head. It stunned the dog for a moment, making it whimper and whine, and gave Patrick the chance to to rotate the gun, and fired a shot right into its head. It collapsed at once.
Patrick panted heavily, the adrenaline racing through his body. "Well, that's done," Patrick said.
Colonel Granger holstered his laser pistol to his power armor. "Yeah. Next time, let's not disturb a pack of wild dogs, okay?"
Patrick walked over and grabbed Hard Tack's reins. Surprisingly, the sleipnir hadn't run away. In fact, it was snorting, pawing at the ground, like if it was standing its ground from the dogs. Patrick knew that sleipnir's had a very deep and ingrained fight or flight instinct, though often leaning more toward the fighting side of the scale. Demon was very much a fighter, and it looked like Hardtack was the same.
"Alright, let's go find those blueprints," Patrick said, attaching the laser rifle to Hardtack's saddle, grabbing his .44 Magnum and assault rifle, reloaded both, and proceeded into the Ball Aeronautics building.
As soon as Patrick opened the door, a Mister Handy robot floated up to them.
"Welcome to Ball Aeronautics, Bismarck Office! Please provide your employee number and job title." The British accented robot said as soon as Patrick and Colonel Granger stepped into the office.
Patrick blinked, his hand on the laser rifle that was already his new best friend, and looked around. The building was more or less in ruins, but he had no idea how many laser turrets, other robots, or traps and mines could be laying around. Well, it's worth a shot… "Uhh… Employee number 5873, and… Vice-President?"
The Mister Handy hovered in the air for a moment, little clicks and whirs as the security system went through the list of employees. Patrick bit his lip, shuffled in his steps, his finger tightening on his laser rifle…
"Welcome Vice President Kevin Combs. You were last logged in 140 years, six months, and 26 days ago. Internal security systems have been deactivated for your safety. Have a nice and productive work day!"
Patrick and Colonel Granger stared as the Mister Handy moved to the side.
"H-how did you do that?" Colonel Granger asked
"I dunno… luck?" Patrick replied, just as shocked as the Colonel.
The Mister Handy then turned to Colonel Granger. "Welcome to Ball Aeronautics, Bismarck Office! Please provide your employee number and job title."
"I'm a Colonel with the US Army to do an inspection on Project Pegasus," he replied.
The robot took a moment to think. "Project Pegasus is a project of the US Air Force. Does not compute."
"I allow him here!" Patrick shouted, making the Mister Handy turn. "I give authorization to override the secrecy parameters."
The robot had to think a bit more. "Very well Mr. Vice President. Have a nice day."
The Mister Handy finally went away, and Patrick and Colonel Granger breathed a sigh of relief.
"Okay, let's get this over with." Had Colonel Granger not been wearing his helmet, Patrick would have seen sweat dripping down his face in nervousness.
They split up and searched the building. Patrick started on the first floor, but all the books, papers and computers were falling apart, illegible, and not working, respectively. Colonel Granger clanked his way up to the second floor to look, and a few minutes later, after Patrick was unable to find anything on the first floor, he joined the Colonel.
The second floor was, frankly, a mess. The roof was caving in, so a third of the room was impossible to get into. Patrick could also see several Protectrons and Mister Handy bots in a low power state slumped over or resting in their pods. At least they weren't shooting at Patrick, so there was that. But there were a lot of computers, some that were still functional, and a massive mainframe with a few reel-to-tape memory banks visible. A nearby generator was also put-puttering nearby, giving some power to the computer system. Colonel Granger was working on getting the mainframe working, his helmet off on a table nearby so he could see better, and his head almost entirely inside the guts of the electronic device.
"Find anything? Patrick asked.
"I dunno. The mainframe has a lot of dust in it, but if I can just get…" he muttered, pulling at something. There was a loud beep, followed a moment later by the reels on the outside beginning to spin, and a loud clanking, crashing sound could be heard. Fans started up, with 140 years of dust being expelled at once, making both Colonel Granger and Patrick sneeze.
"Bless you," they both replied at once, and they both laughed.
Several computer terminals turned on, and Patrick and Colonel Granger went to seperate ones.
"Okay, so we are looking for anything with Project Pegasus, correct?" Patrick asked.
"Yeah. I don't know if there were any other code names though, so we may have to check almost everything."
Patrick and Colonel granger began looking through the terminals for any information. A lot of the files were corrupted, some that claimed to be there weren't, and in general it seemed that thanks to the breakdown in the mainframe, nothing was where it should have been.
"Damnit," Patrick muttered to himself when he got through all the files. "Nothing here."
"I did see something where the design specs and the blueprints that were made on computer were supposed to be printed off and put into a safe after every major revision. The last time that was done was… September 13, 2077. We should have a file somewhere."
"Safe? I think I saw one downstairs," Patrick said. "I didn't open it though, as I didn't have the code."
"Well, we'll have to crack the safe then," Colonel Granger said.
Patrick and Colonel Granger tramped on back downstairs to the office where Patrick saw the safe. Colonel Granger looked at it for a moment twisting the dial on the front a bit to try to hear clicks inside the safe's mechanics. But the rusty metal wheel stopped turning after a few clicks.
"Well, fuck," Patrick said, staring at the safe. "And who would have thought that the safe would be impossible to open?"
Colonel Granger didn't even blink, instead reaching down and grabbing the handle, and yanking the door handle. The handle, and the entire door came off with a metallic snap, revealing the contents inside.
Patrick's eyes went wide. "Jesus, where did that come from?"
"I'm wearing power armor. Duh," Colonel Granger said. He then knelt down to look inside the safe.
Patrick knelt down as well and reached inside, and pulled out a large folder, and then opened it. Technical drawings and blueprints stared back at him.
"Well, this looks like an airplane. I can't tell if it's nuclear powered or not though."
Colonel Granger grinned. "Well, it does say Project Pegasus right there," pointing at the top corner.
"Huh. Well then." Patrick closed up the folder, slung his backpack off and deposited the papers inside.
"So, that's done. Now we just gotta get that back to Winnipeg and Secretary Creighton." Patrick said. Colonel Granger nodded.
They walked out the front door, past the polite and cheery Mister Handy, and stood outside. Patrick walked over and got Hardtack, leading him back to Colonel Granger as he fit the helmet back on his head.
"So, where now?" Colonel Granger asked.
Patrick brought up his Pip-Boy and looked at the map. "I don't think we better go back to Vault 53, or toward where the Vertibird crashed. I bet the Brotherhood are still looking for us." Colonel Granger nodded. "We are still most likely pretty far behind Brotherhood lines, and the closest town in Assiniboia looks like it's either Devil's Lake or Bomber City. The only problem is that Radiation Alley is between us and them."
"So we go around it I guess?" Colonel Granger suggested. "I bet if we stay a bit closer to Radiation Alley, we might not get patrols looking for us. I could easily walk through it because of my power armor, but I'm sure you won't fare so well."
"No, and I don't think I have enough Rad-X to get me through it. So around Radiation Alley it is."
They didn't set out, instead staying at the hall that the super mutants had just abandoned, sleeping on old mattresses that weren't taken along for the trip south, eating some leftover stew that the super mutants had made.
They woke up the next morning, Patrick climbing up onto Hardtack's back, and began their trek north, away from New California, and skirting the ruins of Bismarck, and continued to head northeast.
It's often hard to accurately figure out where Radiation Alley was, which made trying to walk near it a problem. The winds could quickly shift, rain and snow that formed over Radiation Alley could travel hundreds of miles before storming, and in general the radiation was impossible to predict.
Colonel Granger had a Geiger counter in his power armor, and Patrick had one on his Pip-Boy, which was about the only useful thing the wrist mounted computer could do, with the radio signals jammed, and no new random information coming on for him to read.
Not only that, but the ever present fear that over the next hill, in the next slough, in the next ruined farmhouse, Brotherhood soldiers could be waiting. They would be patrolling, trying to maintain the long "front line" they claimed they held in North Dakota. Patrick heard from merchants and traders that, if you knew the patterns, you could slip by easily enough, especially when you were close to Radiation Alley. But if you were caught, or if the radiation shifted, or a storm came up… there were often traders that frequented Melita and the towns of Assiniboia that suddenly vanished, and were never heard from again.
Patrick and Colonel Granger stumbled on an outpost of the Brotherhood in the middle of nowhere late one afternoon. The only warning that they had was the crackle of gunfire, and the shouting of several people that sounded a lot like drill sergeants.
"Where are we now?" Patrick asked when they found a place to make sure they wouldn't be found, a small bluff that was almost too close to the barbed wire fence that was around the stretch of bare, wasteland prairie. Hardtack was tied to a tree further into the bluff of old trees, hopefully far enough that she wouldn't be noticed, and could eat or relax to her heart's content.
"We should be okay. It looks like a training post," Colonel Granger said when Patrick asked him. "They would only have something like this behind the lines, far from where possible fighting might be. If we are found, there won't be many people that can go after us. I hope."
"But out here? Where are we even?"
"You have the Pip-Boy with the map," Colonel Granger replied.
"Oh, yeah," Patrick said, looking down at the device on his arm. He brought up the map, and groaned. "Still doesn't help. There is no towns nearby that I'm aware of."
Colonel Granger sighed. "Well, we should still wait until after sundown."
Patrick acquiesced, and so they set up a small camp in the bluff, and ate some of the food that they picked up from New California.
Otherwise, they sat and studied the base patiently, from a distance. From their vantage point, they couldn't make out the features of individual soldiers in the camp. But there was a shooting range where they practiced fired guns, ranging from pistols to hunting rifles to laser guns at targets. Another group was exercising, some wrestling, some taking a break and eating at a cluster of tables. Through all of it, better equipped and armored soldiers prowled, barking orders and obscenities at the recruits.
"Man, there has to be five hundred people there," Patrick whispered to Colonel Granger. Sure, he was hidden and well out of earshot of any BoS soldier, but he dared not take any risk of being found.
"Yeah," Colonel Granger also whispered. "But they all look pretty young. I bet not a single one down there is older than 15."
"Why are they training them so young?" Patrick asked.
"Indoctrination," Colonel Granger said. " The younger you start drilling them to march, shoot, tell them what's right and wrong, and take orders, the less likely they will do anything but what you want. The Enclave isn't really much different. Just not all of us are soldiers."
Patrick bit his lips, but didn't say anything else, and looked around He noticed about 20 kids were being lead in a run around the exterior of the perimeter of the base. He could even hear them chant their marching song.
Then he saw him.
"Zach?" Patrick asked, his eyes going wide. His hair may have been cut, his clothes different, but it was clearly him.
"What?"
"My brother… he's there."
"Are you sure? There is a lot…"
"That's got to be him." Patrick said, digging for his wallet, and pulling it out. He rummaged through the bills and paper in it until he pulled out a picture of Zach. "Look. Same height, same hair, that scar on his cheek."
Colonel Granger looked to the kid that Patrick pointed out and back down to the picture. "Well, maybe you are right."
"I got to rescue him."
"What?" Colonel Granger exclaimed, his voice going up. He looked around, then whispered again. "Are you insane? They will kill you! And him!"
Patrick clenched his fists. "But… all this time… trying to find him… and he's… and I... can't…" he burst into tears, slumping down against the tree. "So close… but so far…"
Colonel Granger bit his lip, and reached out to Patrick, but stopped before he touched his shoulder, unsure what to say or do to comfort him. The Colonel sighed and looked away, keeping his eyes on the training camp.
Colonel Granger had to make sure that Patrick didn't run away that night to do something rash or foolish, and still followed him closely with an eye when they left later so that he didn't do something rash. But Patrick was quiet and sullen for the whole day, and didn't say anything when they finally started heading north.
It took two solid days of careful traveling, with a lot of diversions to avoid the rads that kept pushing them further and further east, before Patrick and Colonel Granger finally found a Brotherhood of Steel patrol. Rather Patrick was found by the three BoS soldiers first as he got Hardtack to the top of a hill, and Colonel Granger was clanking away a bit further behind.
"Halt!" one of them shouted, lifting his laser rifle to point at Patrick. "Who goes there?"
The soldier were all fairly similar: none was wearing power armor, and instead was wearing crudely fashioned metal armor. However they all had laser weapons, and all looked like they knew how to use them. They had a hardened, veteran feel about them, which made Patrick a bit nervous. These guys weren't like the rookies he found back after the Vertibird crashed.
"I'm just a farmer going to town to get some supplies," Patrick lied.
"What town?" another BoS soldier, a shorter female, asked.
Patrick tried to remember his map, and thought he had an answer. "Devils Lake," he said.
The first Brotherhood guy snarled. "What? That's Assiniboian territory! You are under arrest for treason and trying to defect." All three of them raised their rifles at Patrick.
"Alright, you got me. But you can't shoot me, I'm from Assiniboia and we aren't at war," Patrick said.
"You're a spy and a sabotager person then!"
Before Patrick could move, a bright blue streak of electricity went through the air, just above the heads of the Brotherhood soldiers. Hardtack reared up in shock, his four front hooves flailing and pawing at the air. Patrick struggled to hold on to the reins to prevent Hardtack from throwing him off or running away. The BoS soldiers ducked from both the blast of Colonel Granger's Tesla gun. Hardtack's hooves hit the ground, all four of them impacting the earth so hard that one of the BoS soldiers trying to stand up was knocked off his feet. Patrick grabbed his .44 Magnum from his holster, and managed to get it out and pointed at one of the soldiers and fired a shot. The bullet bounced off the metal armor, much to Patrick's disappointment.
But this time the loud gunshot made Hardtack buck, and began to sprint down off the hill. Patrick dropped his revolver, instead using both hands to grab hold of the reins to try to slow down and stop Hardtack.
"Easy there!" Patrick shouted, trying to yank back to slow down the equine, but Hardtack was in no mood to listen.
ZAP! Lines of red energy shot out all around Patrick and Hardtack as they raced away, which just made the sleipnir run even faster to the north.
Patrick grimaced, took a deep breath, then yanked hard on the left rein, sharply turning the sleipnir around and straight back at the hill.
The sight of a galloping sleipnir, taller than a human and nearly the size and weight of a pre-War car, with eight thundering hooves that have been known to trample people to death, charging straight at you was something that few people in the Wasteland ever experienced, or would want to experience. That was why Assiniboia had cavalry regiments, even though they hadn't been used since the early 20th century. Patrick had only experienced a charging sleipnir a couple times in his life, when something went wrong when he was trying to break a young sleipnir. The Brotherhood soldiers, to Patrick's credit, tried to hold their ground and fire at first. But Hardtack wasn't scared now, he was furious. He snorted, lowered his head, and kept coming.
All three Brotherhood soldiers scattered. The one that tried to run straight ahead in his heavy metal armor was headbutted by Hardtack, sending the soldier flying and tumbling off the hill. He didn't move, but Patrick wasn't sure if that was because of being hit by a furious Sleipnir or crashing on the ground after flying off a small hill, and if he was dead or unconscious.
The loud firing of the Tesla Gun sounded again just as Patrick turned Hardtack around once more. Patrick was just in time to see the Brotherhood soldier that the blue bolt of electricity hit scream out as she was caught on fire. Not just any fire, but something so hot she nearly instantly combusted. Before her body hit the ground, it was almost a pile of ash: only the metal armor and the laser weapon she held wasn't charred ruins, and even then they were blackened by flames.
Colonel Granger popped out of the spot where he fired the Red Alert, and looked around until he saw Patrick, and gave a wave. Patrick finally managed to bring Hardtack back under control, gently easing the sleipnir down from a gallop to a trot to a walk, before finally stopping back at the top of the hill. Colonel Granger knew better than stand right in front of the snorted, angry Hardtack. Even in his power armor, he sure didn't want to have to face those furious hooves. But the sleipnir, nostrils flaring, body shaking, sweat dripping all over, wasn't in any mood or shape to begin running again. If need be, perhaps, but Patrick didn't want to push Hardtack.
"Well, that was fun," Patrick said, giving a small, forced smile.
"Good thing they didn't just shoot you on the spot," Colonel Granger remarked.
"Yeah. If they did, I would be like that one guy you got," Patrick said, looking over at the pile of ash that was a Brotherhood soldier a few minutes ago. Smoke still came up from the uncannily human body shaped pile of ash.
"Did you see what happened to the third soldier?" Colonel Granger asked.
"No, did you?" Patrick asked. The colonel shook his head.
"Damn, he must have got away," Patrick said, with a sigh. "Well, we can't stay here. We've got to get to the railroad ASAP."
Colonel Granger nodded. "Then let's get going."
PipBoy InfoTracker Note #395
The Northern Commonwealth Welcomes You!
Are you tired of city living? Of riots and food shortages and the risk of nuclear power plants melting down and excessively high taxes? Well why not come to the Northern Commonwealth, and find a new home far from all your worries!
Composed of North Dakota, South Dakota, Montana and Wyoming, the Northern Commonwealth is leading the entire United States in many important demographics: food security, crime, education, pre-capita income, and the fastest growing economy in the past six years. Here is the last major sources of oil in North America, locked up in North and South Dakota, just waiting to be unearthed and sold at great profits. Coal mines in Montana are also booming in the drive to power the rest of America, and prices for wheat, corn, barley, beef, pork and many other foodstuffs is so high that even a first year farmer can more than pay for their new farm. And what good-blooded American wouldn't want to travel to see the famous Mount Rushmore, and see the last living bison roaming the plains?
All this wealth is just making the Northern Commonwealth the best place to move and do business with, and it's the safest place in the whole US: The New Plague has not ravaged our fair Commonwealth due to stringent quarantine rules, no Chinese Communists would ever show up here this far from any coast, and the US Armed Forces have dozens of bases and missile defense stations to ensure our safety and make sure those Canadians don't disturb us. And our cities, while maybe not as big as New York or Los Angeles, have just as many services, for a fraction of the cost of living: Our tax rate is the lowest in the country, so you get to keep more of your hard earned greenbacks!
So what are you waiting for? Come visit the Northern Commonwealth today! You'll be glad you did!
**Paid for by the Northern Commonwealth Economic Development Board. All the claims made have been approved by the Northern Commonwealth Statistics Office. Those wishing to move to the Northern Commonwealth may be subjected to physical, mental and health tests before approval. Anyone who has had a family member infected with the New Plague will be turned away at the border and/or shot on sight. Taxes may be subject to change without notice.