Chapter Eight
The train ride to Winnipeg took its time leaving the station, leaving Patrick stewing at the anger he had with Vault H, the Overseer and having Derek locked up in a place that was as far from the tribal lifestyle he grew up in that Patrick could think of.
The locomotive that pulled Patrick to Winnipeg was one of the new Atomliners, a nuclear powered engine that was all the rage before the Great War, and was only now slowly being rebuilt 140 some years after the bombs dropped. There was no thick black smoke of coal, now huffing and wheezing. In fact, it was a lot smoother, faster, and comfortable than a steam train. It just felt off to Patrick, who had gotten used to the more meandering, temperamental and smoky steam locomotives.
Outside the window, however, was just the same scene as what Patrick had seen before: more dried, irradiated landscapes, trees in small clusters that hadn't grown leaves in decades, old whistle-stop towns that were nothing but piles of wood and brick in the wasteland now, the occasional working farm here and there struggling to eke a living, and many more that hadn't grown a crop in generations. Patrick contented himself with reading his Pip-Boy and listening to DBS programs. A mid May snowstorm began to fall that evening as well, making Patrick sigh. Now he really
Once Patrick got closer to Winnipeg, the towns stopped looking like there were all ruins, and soon looked like they were lived in, if not exactly well put together. The buildings became nicer, more sturdily constructed, and with more people milling around, not to mention electric lights illuminating the snowy streets. Melita only had a small hydro plant that was enough water to supply the water pumps and the train station with electricity. Everything else was battery powered, or candles. The train stopped at several of the towns, usually just long enough for some passengers to climb up and bags of mail to be tossed into the cars or unloaded.
A bridge of steel and wood that had been constructed since the War of 2077 over the Red River brought the train onto the direct route on the old rails north past the Perimeter, the old nickname of Highway 100 that ringed Winnipeg and now set out where the Capital District encompassed. Just inside the perimeter and the east was the sprawling campus of the University of Manitoba. Even as the world descended into nuclear-fueled chaos, the professors and scientists of the University of Manitoba rolled up their sleeves and set to work on making that same world livable. Assiniboia owed so much to the university, and it is perhaps the greatest legacy of the pre-war era to survive. Patrick was amazed at the tall buildings that dwarfed the campus,
In contrast to the University, on the other side of the train tracks was the ruins of South Winnipeg, where massive houses of suburbia from before the fuel crisis and the War of 2077 were now falling into ruins. As the price of gas went up, riots of dissatisfied youth and the pressures on the increasingly unemployed and shrinking middle-class made living in the outskirts of the big city less safe and fashionable to live in. After the American annexation and the collapse of the Canadian economy in 2075, most people either fled or were forced from the suburbs to the towering apartment buildings of the downtown. Even after the war, very few people liked living far from the center of the city that couldn't be easily reached by boat or sleipnir. Southwestern Winnipeg, according to many of the stories, was also where the thousands of refugees from Ontario and the US were kept after the bombs fell, and the ghosts of the tens, if not hundreds of thousands that filled the area haunt all those that seek to live there, and left the area more or less a haunted ground, shunned, feared and respected by the generations that have lived in Winnipeg since.
The further north the train went, the more diverse and habited Winnipeg became. Off to one side, along a large bend in the Assiniboine River, was the walled enclave that was Wellington Crescent. Just like in ancient times, the wealthiest Winnipeggers lived in massive mansions with servants and more rooms that could be counted, and many of them also possessed some of the few working cars in this part of the world, all to chauffer the bigwigs in luxury and splendor. The entire neighborhood, and the decadence, politics, gossip and extravagant wealth was the basis for the soap opera Wellington Crescent that was the most popular shows on DBS.
Just a few blocks away was the notorious Osborne Village, one of the oldest areas of Winnipeg. While many politicians, bureaucrats, merchants and industrialists lived in the area, it was also home to the largest black market operation in Assiniboia, with many of the stores in the area also selling things that were illegal, or over the rationed limit. Anything from the best steaks to the most expensive chems could be found, if you knew the right place to go. The occasional RAMP raid would go in and sweep through the stores and markets and confiscate illicit materials, but it was guaranteed that it would all be back to normal just days later.
Those same politicians that lived in Osborne Village or Wellington Crescent worked in the massive limestone building that towered over this part of Winnipeg, the nearly 300 year old Legislative Building. A symbol of Manitoba before the War of 2077 and Assiniboia now, the "Ledge," as it was often called, still housed the prime minister, his cabinet, the other members of the Legislative Assembly and a dozen other government offices. On top of the building and it's massive green copper dome was the "Golden Boy," painstakingly restored after it tumbled off of the roof in 2108 due to the lack of maintenance. The statue, which once pointed north to symbolize the potential of thousands of square miles of resource rich land now buried under kilometres of glacier, now pointed south, as if saying "We will never turn our backs on the south." Whether that was a promise or a threat, no one was really sure. It could be both.
One more rail crossing, this time over an ancient train bridge over the Assiniboine River lead to the Forks, the center of the city and where the Red and Assiniboine River's met. At one point where Indians and the first settlers had traded and bartered, where the long-forgotten Lord Selkirk's pioneers had first settled, a massive railyard turned tourist attraction, and was now the largest marketplace in perhaps the entire world. Food, clothing, medicine and all manner of goods were purchased and sold here. Most riverboats had their main base at the Forks, and the train station was only a short walk away.
Patrick's train finally pulled to a halt inside the massive Union Station Terminal, where all the passenger trains start and end from when traveling across the country. The towering stone structure was showing it's age, as sheets of metal and wooden supports were holding up most of the building, while the aged and rusted steel and crumbling stone creaked and groaned, barely audible over the crowds that filled the hall. Patrick looked up nervously, realizing that if something went wrong, the casualties would be horrendous.
But Assiniboia had a love affair with its old, pre-war buildings. The Ministry of Culture and Communications would stamp anything built before 2077 with a "Heritage Building" Designation, preventing it from being torn down, but also that repairs couldn't take place that would compromise the architectural beauty. Of course, once that building finally did fall down, then it could be replaced with something new, if less impressive.
Patrick went to claim Demon, and after getting his sleipnir from the CPR Livery Stable (and the nervous, jittery young man who brought him over), he walked outside the station, the package in his backpack. Once outside, Patrick froze.
Standing on Main Street, Winnipeg, was a surreal, otherworldly experience. Tall buildings dwarfed everyone walking by. The tallest building in Melita was the grain elevator, and even then it was an anomaly. Most other houses or stores were just two, maybe three stories at most. Here, Patrick counted 10, 20, 30 rows of windows on the buildings. They were old and weathered, and many of the upper floors had long since been abandoned for safety reasons.
The smells were also different, though more stronger than anything else. With so many sleipnir's and brahmins around, Patrick would think it was like home. After all animals had to go somewhere, and they had no sense of decency to not do it in the middle of the road. But the smell of food, unwashed bodies, urine and a thousand other smells nearly made Patrick gag, cough and throw up all at once, but he managed to keep it in.
And the people! Never in all his life had he seen so many people in one place. Crowds bustled around, going from place to play, shopping and browsing, many walking in and out of the train station. Sleipnirs and brahmin pulled Fusiliers and more normal carts. A few riders maneuvered their way around the little clusters of people, shouting at people to get them to move, but many people ignoring them. Little kids played with each other as their concerned mother's looked on, while some men walked out of the myriad of small bars, stumbling down the streets. Men in shabby clothes and women in clothing that was almost too revealing either by design or flaw shivered in the cold winter air, hawking their wares or services. A couple of RAMP officers, in their red armor, watched over the crowd behind dark sunglasses, while a troop of green-grey clad soldiers, complete with helmets and rifles, marched down the street toward the train station.
To top it all off, the snow that had been falling overnight wasn't a simple white, but a mucky, dirty brown slush, a colour that seemed to blend in with the people, the buildings and everything else to form a flawed, intimidating, yet still amazing first impression of Assiniboia's capital city, the Miracle City of the Wasteland.
"First time in Winnipeg sonny?" a long drawled voice asked behind Patrick, making him turn around. An old man in working clothes, a thick, well worn winter jacket, and a small cart piled high of boxes stood there, leaning against the cart and smoking a cigarette. "I remember the first time I got here from down south. Amazing how many people you can pack into one space, eh?"
Patrick nodded, dazed and disoriented. "Uh, you wouldn't happen to know where the RAMP Headquarters is, do you?"
The old man took a draw from his smoke, and exhaled. "Sure do. Go up Main Street here until you get to Portage and Main, and all those big ol' skyscrapers. Turn down Portage, and keep going until you see this big wall made out of old cars. Behind it is 'The Sandcastle of Portage,' a University from the Before Times. That's the new RAMP HQ."
"Thanks a lot," Patrick said, and lifted his boot into the stirrup made to mount Demon.
"Don't mention it," the man said, lifting up his cart and pushing it on again.
The crowds beyond the station were thinner, but there was still more people than he was really comfortable with walking around. It seemed like every street he looked down, the entire population of Melita, or even Vault H, could be dumped here and no one would notice. Cities sure were different from a small town, that was for sure.
A cool breeze washed over Patrick as he went through Portage and Main, complete with snow flying in his face. and he had to grab the beaten leather hat on his head to make sure it didn't fly away. When he got to the intersection, he waited for the RAMP traffic cop to wave his arms and motion traffic in the proper direction, though some didn't pay attention and followed the rules, causing commotion and chaos until the perpetrator finally weaved his way through the crowd, to the loud shouts and curses of those they were holding up. When it was safe, Patrick turned west, and began trooping along to the west.
Old buildings with signs both old and new were either painted, hung, light up or plastered to the sides of the building, advertising the businesses inside. Banks, furniture, hotels, insurance and trade were all listed, though many of the oldest buildings, the ones that were "Heritagized" but were unsafe to use, still stood as empty, windowless hulks, skeletons among the living. Patrick shivered as he went by.
Further on, at Memorial Avenue, was the five story stone building of the Rediboine Trading Company, the unloved but necessary monopoly that traded goods all across the nation, often reselling the items they got for cheap outside of Winnipeg at exorbitant mark ups.
Further down Memorial was the massive stone monolith that was the Legislative Building. It was even more impressive here than from the train: far enough away that you wouldn't see the wear and tear on the limestone, but close enough to see most of the impressive detail that went into it. If he ever got the chance to get closer, he was sure he would be even more amazed and impressed.
Patrick had to turn himself away and continued down the street. He saw the car wall just around a bend in the road, and saw the triangular shaped building that was now the main base for the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police.
A sign pointed down a side street saying "RAMP OFFICERS ONLY." It was guarded by two men in armor different from ordinary officers, and must have been the famed T-51b Power Armor that had been restored by Assiniboia after the nation was created, and when the US Army reluctantly joined the nation. The men inside the massive suit of metal, as if they were knights in an old book, didn't wear any helmets, only the broad brown Stetson that was the RAMP's trademark.
"Halt!" one of the men shouted as Patrick turned that way. "Only Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police members can enter this way."
"I was just looking for someone to talk to about a package I was asked to deliver," Patrick said.
"Well go around the front and go to the Public Entrance then," the other man said. "Only Dragoons, Members and Axillaries may enter here."
"Well, I'm an Auxiliary," Patrick said, dismounting off of Demon and pulling out the badge and forms that Commander Mackenzie had signed from him. The second Power Armored man clanked forward, startling Demon, and looked over the metal badge in Patrick's hand, and then taking the folded forms and looked at it, before grunting.
"Patrick Morrison?" the man asked, and Patrick nodded.
"What, where have I heard that name before… Are you the guy that dealt with those raiders down at… uh… Was-cah-du?" the first power armored man said, mispronouncing the small towns name. "And the ones at Turtle Town as well? The one the radio is calling 'The Auxiliary?'"
Patrick grimaced at his reluctant nickname. "Yeah… but the radio never said my name. How did you get it?"
"The RAMP is a close-knit community. I know one of the officers out there, Joseph. Great guy," the first power armored man said. "But yeah, I bet you want to actually see what we are up to, don't you?"
"Well, actually I have some other business to take care of. Is there a Corporal Jenkins I can meet?"
The two officers looked at each other. "Sorry, never heard the name before. But there are a lot of RAMP members here, so if you come in and talk to Reception, they might be able to tell you."
"Alright, thanks," Patrick said, as the officer's stepped to the side and the first one hit a button opening the door.
"Don't mention it," the first RAMP officer said. "The Red Serge Forever!"
The second officer chanted back the unofficial motto of the Mounties, and Patrick only smiled. The RAMP members were, perhaps, the most loyal men in the Dominion, the ones that did what they could to fight for order and safety, and were very proud to do so.
Patrick walked down the side street. Off to one side, in what must have been an old bus terminal for city buses, a stable had been set up, with dozens of sleipnirs standing contently, being groomed and feed by their riders.
An older lady, who, from the way she carried herself without any RAMP memorabilia on her to signify rank, must have been in charge of the stables, walked over to Patrick and Demon
"My, what a fine specimen of a sleipnir you got there," she said, looking over Demon. "A bit tall, maybe not run as often as he should be. Still well cared for."
"Yeah, he's also got a bit of a temper," Patrick said, as the lady walked up and stroked him. Though the black stallion was nervous at first and tried to shy away from her hands, at the first he melted into her hands, pushing his head against her hand and nickering contently.
"Wow, first time I've ever seen him do that," Patrick said.
"Ah, well you need to know how to do it," the lady replied. "I'm Sarah O'Connor, and I'm the matron of the stables here. Don't do anything with the guns there, but I take care of their mounts, train them and keep them fed and watered."
Patrick gave his name, his rank, and the name of the mount.
"Not often I see a new face around here. Do you want me to take care of Demon while you do whatever it is that you do?"
"Sure," Patrick said, handing her the reins. "Very kind of you."
"It's my job," Sarah replied. "Now run along and do what you need to do."
Patrick nodded, and walked over to the side door that lead into the old university. He walked up a few steps in a stairwell until he got into the building proper.
Inside, men and women, ranging from heavily armored RAMP officers to secretaries and assistants, as well as new recruits, old veterans, and a dozen other people were milling around. The halls were as tidy as one could keep them, and the paint did look like it had been touched up in the past 50 years or so, making it an anomaly amongst the Wasteland and the Dominion. Patrick looked around, and noticed a sign saying "Information" pointing to a small place on the far wall.
Patrick walked over, to see that no one was inside the room. Curious, Patrick hit the little bell on the counter, and waited to see what would happen.
A stiff clank of metal footsteps echoed through the room, and soon a Protectron robot appeared in the window.
"How may I help you, Officer, Dragoon or Auxiliary?" the robot replied in it's stiff robotic voice.
"I… I'm looking for Corporal Jenkins?" Patrick replied, feeling a bit off by talking to a robot.
"Searching for results for 'Corporal Jenkins.' Proper Name detected. Searching Personal Database. Searching. Searching," The robot intoned. "Two results found: Corporal William Jenkins, Fargo Detachment; Corporal Leonard Williams, Special Crimes Unit, Winnipeg."
"Where is Corporal Leonard Williams?" Patrick asked, assuming that the second choice was the one he was sent to find.
"Searching for results for 'Carpel Reynard Gilliam,'" the robot said. "No results found."
"No, Corporal Leonard Williams," Patrick corrected, trying to enunciate as clearly as possible
"Correction received. Searching for results for 'Cape Royal Leotard Mailings." No results found."
Patrick growled and was about to shout it at the top of his lungs when a young officer stepped in behind, and opening the back and flipping a switch. The robot suddenly powered down, and would have fallen over had the officer not carefully guided it over to the right. "Sorry about that. Rusty's voice recognition software isn't up to snuff. Anyway, how can I help you?"
"Uh… yes… I'm looking for Corporal Leonard Williams' office? Special Crimes Unit?" Patrick said, hoping he would get the right answer.
"Ah yes, The Special Crimes Unit. His office would be in 2A36. Just up the stairs behind you, under a sign that says 'English Department.' They still haven't gotten around to painting over that sign."
"How long has it been?" Patrick asked.
"Oh… 130 years, if I'm guessing right," he said with a smile.
"Uh, okay then," Patrick said, turning around. "Thanks for your help."
"No worries!"
Patrick walked back the way he came, nearly running into a couple people pushing carts of papers all over the place. He got back to the stairwell, and walked up the flight of stairs until he got to the second floor. Then he turned to his left, and saw the mentioned "English Department" sign, and walked down the hall.
Old books filled the halls, along with old post boards with notices ranging from classroom schedules to locations of bars in the Pre-War era, and more recent notices of proper behavior and propaganda for a "Spirited Assiniboia." Patrick, along with other people he knew back home, thought the slogan was a stupid one, but you can't stop the government when they get an idea.
Eventually Patrick found 2A36, with Corporal Leonard Williams' name painted on the door, and he knocked
"Come in!" came the reply from inside, a bored voice of an office worker. Patrick opened the door and walked in to see a huge hulk of a man, in a uniform that seemed a size too small, sitting at a desk with a working computer terminal, along with papers stacked a foot high. An open window behind him fluttered some of the papers being held down by paperweights, one of them being the RAMP standard issue WAR79 .44 Magnum revolver.
Patrick just stared at the mountain of muscle that sat behind the desk, before the corporal cleared his throat. "Can I help you?"
"Oh, sorry. I just didn't expect…"
"To see a big guy sitting behind a little desk doing paperwork?" the corporal finished. "Well, I would be out in the field, if it wasn't for one little thing." Before Patrick could say anything, the hulk of a man grabbed his chair and rolled away from his desk, wheeling around to show that Corporal Leonard Williams was sans legs.
Patrick's eyes went even wider at the sight of the legless police man. The corporal sighed.
"A raid three years ago on some house in the North End. Not just a bear trap hidden under some rubble, but also a trip wire hooked up to sawed off shotguns. Barely knew what happened before I was on the floor, blood leaking everywhere." Leonard shook his head. "Wasn't fun, and now all I can do is… well, this.
"But you didn't come here about my legs, did you?" The officer said, rolling himself back behind his desk, and motioning to a chair across from him. "And what's your name?"
"Patrick Morrison. And, well, uh… I have a package from the Overseer of Vault H that he wanted me to deliver to you," Patrick said, and laid out the story of what happened, before carefully taking the package from his backpack and setting it in front of Corporal Williams.
"Hmm," the officer replied after a few moments or thinking and looking at the package. "Hmm. This is weird."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been pursuing a case for a while, about corruption at Vault H. But the Overseer is a smart guy; covering his tracks, greasing some palms, has rock solid alibis. But this seems sloppy. I'm not sure why he would send an Auxiliary to deliver a package. No, he wouldn't do that. He must have wanted something else."
The officer took the package, and then a combat knife that Patrick didn't even see buried under the papers, and carefully cut at the tape that held the package together. Setting down the knife, Corporal Williams started to open the box. But as he started to lift the lid, Patrick heard a little click.
"What was that?" Patrick asked, the clicking starting to speed up
The corporal's eyes went wide. "A bomb!"
Patrick lept across the desk, scattering the papers around and grabbing the box from the RAMP officer and tossing it out the open window behind him and it fell down to the street below. Not even a moment later, a blinding flash of light, ear shattering bang, and huge explosion threw shrapnel everywhere, and loud screams and terrified whinnies of the sleipnirs in the stables across the street.
Corporal Williams sat in stunned silence, and Patrick, still splayed over the desk, panted heavily. "I… I thank you for saving my life, Patrick. You have pretty good ears there."
Patrick lifted himself up and flopped back into the chair. The door behind Patrick burst open and an RAMP officer, weapon out, barged in.
"What the hell happened here?" shouted the officers in red combat armor and stripes of a Captain, pointing his gun at Patrick. "Who are you?"
"Calm down, Captain," Corporal Jenkins said, shaking his head as if he was shaking out some dust from his head. "He just saved my life. Also brought the bomb that nearly killed me, but he wouldn't have known."
The captain slowly lowered his revolver. "Sure, Corporal, but I think we need to talk to your friend here." The captain forcefully lifted the shocked Patrick from his chair. "Come on, we are going for a walk."
Pip-Boy 3000 Info-Tracker Note #76
Rebuilding The World: A Five-Point Plan from the Dominion of Assiniboia
December 2088 Press Release
Prime Minister Jack Landon has announced that the Dominion of Assiniboia was embarking on an ambitious, multi-year project to establish Assiniboia as a great power to bring civilization to the wastes, and rebuild as much of the world as possible. While this plan may seem idealistic and even farfetched to the cynics and pessimists, but with time, energy and devotion, Assiniboia can provide the shining beacon that our recently deceased leader, Prime Minister Duncan Cooper, spoke of. But, with the help of the best minds in our nations, ranging from economic, technological, financial, business and military leaders, Assiniboia has begun to develop a five-point plan to build up our Dominion.
1. Expansion: The land and resources of the current dominion is insufficient for the needs of PorLaPra, much less Winnipeg and the smaller areas. Due to the irradiation of vast stretches of farmland, and the freezing of the north in a great glacier, and the danger presented by raiders and bandits, expansion for food, metals, and safety buffer zones are a vital importance to the Dominion. Assiniboia seeks to expand to at least the borders of the Pre-War Province of Manitoba, and to do so that respects the traditions of the inhabitants that we will encounter.
2. Agriculture: As a pre-War agricultural powerhouse, Winnipeg, old Manitoba and new Assiniboia is in a great place to replant and grow the wasteland. All ready they massive greenhouse projects have done an amazing job to keep Winnipeg from starving, but full scale farms outside the city will be needed in the long run, The brilliant scientists at the University of Manitoba have already begun to explore how to genetically modify seeds and plants to stand up to both the harsh climate, and to grow in our great greenhouses, and to last longer than ever before, to allow them to be traded long distances.
3. Industry: In order to rebuild, Assiniboia needs to explore how large and small scale industry can be used to provide work for the people, and produce consumer, military and trade goods that can be used for a multitude of uses. Assiniboia should have a hand in everything, but should focus especially on our strengths. As a transportation center, we should redevelop the railways, build boats for the rivers, and, if all goes according to plan and the resources can be found we can redevelop automobiles.
4. Security: A strong nation cannot rely on food and industry alone. A strong military, adaptable for any situation on our borders is vital, as well as strengthening the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police that can protect people in their homes from both violence and more insidious and quiet forms of criminal activity at home. Providing security and safety will allow Assiniboia to grow and expand, as more people seek security under a proven, loyal, and incorruptible force for good.
5. Governance: A strong nation needs a strong government. The post-War world provides an opportunity to experiment and explore different ways to govern large groups of people, as there are very few governments from before 2077 that are still around. Even as we begin to experiment, we will not compromise the rights and liberty of the people that they are born with or have earned.
Together, the work that we as Assiniboians do will make our new Dominion a shining beacon for the world. That is Prime Minister Landon's promise for the future of Assiniboia, old Canada, and the world.