Chapter Twelve
Patrick and Demon arrived back at Brahmin Crossing as the sun began to set once again. The two made their way back to the motel Patrick had stayed the night over, and as he walked in, he noticed Bill Kovak was sitting back at the front desk, flipping through a new magazine this time. When the door opened, he turned to see the arrival, and dropped the magazine.
"You made it back alive?" Bill said in astonishment.
"Yeah, though it wasn't easy, heh," Patrick said, but didn't say anymore. "So, got something to eat?"
Bill brought out a Brahmin steak and set out a bottle of beer. Patrick scarfed down the deliciously cooked meat and nearly inhaled the beer that wasn't irradiated or warm, but relatively fresh. It was the product of a small town in Assiniboia that was devoted solely to producing alcohol, closely guarded by heavily armed mercenaries. While he wasn't much a drinker, he wasn't going to turn down such a drink
The conversation they had while Patrick ate was, much to Patrick's enjoyment, didn't involve any political or philosophical questions about what Assiniboia was or wasn't. It was just stories and gossip, more or less. Patrick didn't know any of the people in the stories, but the crazy escapades of some of the town's folk in Brahmin Crossing was enough to bring a smile to his face.
A few hours and a few bottles of beer later, the door to the motel swung open, letting in a frigid, biting wind, and in walked a trembling old man with a thin, white scraggly beard, eyes wide with fright, making both Bill Kovak and Patrick turnaround to see who it was..
"Th-those lights again! Those angry lights!" he stammered, half walking, half shambling to Bill. "Those lights are out again!"
Bill grabbed hold of the old man and maneuvered him to an old, beat up couch in the corner of the room, then shut the door. "Calm down, calm down. You know lights can't do anything to you."
"But those lights spoke! They spoke some weird gibberish, like it was Aliens!" The old man exclaimed. "We got to get out of town! Got to run away! They are coming for all of us!"
Without any warning, Bill swung and smacked the old man across the face. "Calm the hell down!"
Patrick jumped up from his chair and dashed over to Bill and the old man, concern on his face.
"Easy there Patrick." Bill stepped away from the man. "This is Jimmy, and you won't find a bigger crackpot in the entire Great Plains. Aliens, conspiracy theories, secret magical vaults… he believes in them all."
Jimmy was coming about his senses by that point, rubbing the spot on his face that Bill hit him. "It's true! Strange machines hovering around, speaking something that can't be of this world, with bright lights that always try to catch me. Something is out to get me!"
"The only person out to get you is me for bringing this up again!" Bill shouted. "Now go home, and get sobered up."
Jimmy then turned to Patrick. "You! You gotta believe me!" he jumped up and grabbed Patrick's jacket. His breath did have a strong, whisky twinge to it, nearly making Patrick vomit himself. "Over there," pointing to the west, "is a place, an evil place, filled with robots and aliens, in a big hole in the ground, with a huge door with weird symbols on it!"
Patrick startled. "Wait… a hole in the ground? Like, say, a Vault?"
"Maybe? I don't know! If it is, then aliens took it over after the war and are trying to enslave all of us!"
Bill pulled Jimmy off Patrick and set him back down on the couch. "Don't listen to him, he got dropped on his head as a kid. And several times after that."
Patrick just stood there. "When I was at Vault H, they said there might be a secret Vault somewhere in old North Dakota." Patrick began stroking his chin. "If that's the case..."
"You aren't actually going to listen to Jimmy, are you?" Bill asked. "He's nuttier than a tree!"
Patrick shrugged. "I'm curious now. And if there is nothing there, nothing lost. But if something is there, it could be one of the biggest discoveries in years."
Bill furrowed his brows, before sighing. "My god, insanity is actually a disease, and you're catching it too!"
Patrick got the map coordinates of where the "aliens" might be coming from, and put them into his Pip-Boy. The device told him it would be a nearly day long trip, over 50 kilometers away from Brahmin Crossing. Patrick decided that it would be best to wait until the next day to go. Bright and early the next morning, he climbed up on Demon and headed out.
Patrick made sure to avoid the Great American Company Caravan trading post (who knew if it was gone, or if the Brotherhood of Steel decided to use it), and soon he was on what was, for all intents and purposes, a great grassy sea. In all directions, for miles and miles, nothing but brown-green grass and dust could be seen. Here and there were old farmsteads, with comfortable homes now in ruins and rusted tractors and machinery that hadn't been touched for over a century and a half. Long before the world was plunged into a nuclear abyss, the fuel needed to run the machines either ran out or became too expensive. Patrick heard stories that they had to go back to old fashioned plows and use horses and other animals, but without fertilizer and pesticides, output began to drop, and food rationing had to be put into effect in some areas. The Northern Commonwealth, which North Dakota was part of, did not have to, but many areas did.
Every mile or so there was a ridge with two dips on either side, old gravel and dirt roads that had been built to serve the farmers and those that lived so far out from the towns and cities of old America. Patrick knew this, as the area of "Westman" that he grew up in had similar mile long roads dividing the land into sections and quarters. But by now the gravel and dirt had been overgrown, and all that was left was the ridge dug out by men and machines centuries before.
Around noon, Patrick dismounted Demon and sat on the only fallen log within miles, and ate a sandwich he packed at Brahmin Crossing. As he munched on the thinly sliced Brahmin meat, he flipped on his Pip-Boy's radio. It immediately linked up with the DBS, and he managed to catch the news.
"From the Dominion Broadcasting Service in Winnipeg, this is the Noon Hour News for May 19, 2218. Good afternoon, I'm Brad Horshaw.
"Prime Minister Richard Hawkson announced that upwards of 45 million pounds will be spent this year on the Assiniboian Army, up from last year, when it was 39 million. The Prime Minister says this is due to the ongoing tensions with the Brotherhood of Steel and the need to upgrade weapons currently used by the military. When asked if this would result in higher taxes, Prime Minister Hawkson said he would talk with Finance Minister Olivia Jewels to determine if money can be found elsewhere.
"Troubling news from Brandon today; 15 pro-Assiniboian activists were executed in connection to the plot on the leader of Brandon, Big Boss, that took place two weeks ago. Thirty-two Assiniboian tourists remain under arrest in connection to the plot, though the RAMP and the Ministry of Security have repeatedly stated they had nothing to do with the assassination attempt.
"A defector from the Brotherhood of Steel was found dead in his home in Winnipeg today. Former Paladin Roger Campbell, who left the BoS in 2213 citing the extreme actions of the current Elder, was a frequent contributor to the DBS for information about the Brotherhood, and the writer of a book on some of the horrible things the Brotherhood has been doing in the past two decades. This comes on the heel of the death or disappearance of several other defectors. The RAMP had no comment as of this moment.
"Finally, the Report on the Western Expedition of 2193 has finally been released publicly after the minimum 25 years for classified documents before they can be released. Notable comments include the destruction of most of the old railway tunnels that allowed Pre-Great War trains to easily pass the Rocky Mountains, and reports of a different kind of mutated creature that inhabited the ruins of Calgary and Edmonton, named by the expedition as 'Skitters' for their small body and quick movements. However, there were small human and ghoul settlements in the region, giving hope that someday Canada may be rebuilt from sea to sea.
"That's your noon-hour news update, I'm Brad Horshaw. Please stay tuned for the North End Industries Entertainment Hour, fun for the whole family! This is DBS, the Dominion Broadcasting Service."
Patrick sighed, and turned the dial for the radio, trying to pick up another station. While Zach and Grandma had been faithful listeners of the DBS noon hour programming, Patrick had no interest in the "fun for the whole family' idea that was really just an hour of advertisements for North End Industries, the conglomerate that manufactured most of the goods in Assiniboia for the internal and foreign markets.
And now, listening to it would just bring up some painful memories.
Brandon General Radio was too far out of range, and the Brotherhood's radio network had been jammed by the RAMP since just after the outbreak of the First Brotherhood-Assiniboian War. While some areas of old-Dakota could receive the Brotherhood radio station at times, it usually wasn't for very long. There wasn't a law saying you couldn't listen to it, but the RAMP made it virtually impossible to do so.
Fargo had a radio station, and it came in, but it was mostly rock and roll music that wasn't too popular in Assiniboia, more in favor of country and the classic big band pieces. Patrick quickly turned the dial again,
Patrick's random dial turning suddenly landed on a series of beeps and chimes that were clearly mechanical in nature. It was a rather simple rhythm, before it suddenly stopped, then after a few moments started up again. After a few minutes of listening, Patrick realized it was repeating, saying the same thing over and over again.
The Pip-Boy began to beep after a moment. Patrick tapped at a few buttons, curious as to why his fancy wrist-mounted computer was making noises. Finally he got to a menu he had never seen before for on his PipBoy.
"InfoTracker has detected a non-English vocal form of communication. Would you like us to translate it for you?" Below was two options, in sync with two buttons on the Pip-Boy. Patrick tapped the "Yes" option.
"One moment: detecting language. Do not turn off the radio or restart the Pip-Boy." Patrick looked at it for a few moments, but nothing happened. He sighed, stood up and grabbed the reins again before swinging up on Demon, looking around and at the sun to make sure he was still going west and that Demon hadn't suddenly wandered the wrong way as he was looking at his Pip-Boy.
The Pip-Boy gave a triumphant computerized ditty, making Patrick look at his device again. "Language detected: MORSE CODE. Now providing translation. Note: translation will have ten second delay."
The device beeped for a few more moments, ten seconds to be exact, and then the radio message suddenly turned into a computerized voice.
"…Site V, calling Control Station ENCLAVE. Come in Control Station ENCLAVE. Contact lost with Enclave Command Structure; Enacting Emergency Protocol J-896-08c. In the event Control Station ENCLAVE resumes contact, the Emergency Protocol will be rescinded. Activated on 19 June, 2078 on authority of Secretary of Defense Donald W. Gates." Then there was a brief pause, before the computerized voice came back. "This is United States Government Site V, calling Control Station ENCLAVE. Come in…"
Patrick turned off his radio then. It was just a pre-recorded message of the old American government that had been playing for 140 years apparently. There were a lot of those messages around; occasionally the radio would suddenly start playing some looping Emergency Broadcast System alert message when the transmitter suddenly had enough power to broadcast again, using the loud tone that Assiniboia was now using for emergency in their own towns. That was always a scary moment, hearing the beeping and loud pitch that, had you not known the reason behind it, would be uncomfortable and even aggravating. One person described them as dinosaur fossils: hidden remnants of a long dead world, one that was both fascinating and sobering of what could happen to the masters of the world when their apocalypse finally came.
Patrick grabbed the reigns tighter, and continued walking west. The quiet blowing wind rustled the grass trying to grow or long dead, spinning the dust into miniature tornadoes, dust devils some people call them. Off in the distance, a coyote, perhaps one of the few creatures that wasn't horribly mutated by radiation or other ancient science, howled in the distance, making Demon startle and pause for a moment, but after a moment the eight-legged equine continued on, though more jittery than he was just a moment before.
The trip continued on and on, the sun continuing on it's ever-constant journey from east to west, the bright rays now hitting Patrick's eyes, making it harder to see as he continued to his destination. But the further Patrick continued, the further the sun went down, until finally the golden orb was starting to sink below the horizon. Patrick looked at his Pip-Boy, and zoomed in on the map, noticing that he was close to the dot that Jimmy had placed on his map, pointing out where he thought the "aliens" were. Somewhere nearby, he should find something, right?
There was a small abandoned farmstead up ahead, with a surprisingly still standing house. The two story building with a steep roof may have been painted at one point, but only flecks of dirty white amongst the otherwise weathered boards gave any indication for that. It wasn't perfect; all the windows were broken and part of the roof had fallen in, but otherwise it looked very solid. In the driveway an old pickup truck and a Corvega car sat side by side, rubber tires deflated and cracked and so red from rust it was hard to tell what color it may have been back when they would have ran. An old barn and three grain silos completed the farm scene, along with some rusted machinery parked in a line and rows of dead trees surrounding the area, a windbreak that would have prevented snow from filling the yard when miserable winters was a problem for those who decided to live out in the middle of nowhere like this.
Patrick dismounted, and tied Demon to the broken verandah that wrapped around the first floor of the house. He walked up the steps, the wood creaking and groaning in protest, but otherwise it held together. He pushed open the door on its rusty hinges, and stepped inside.
It was darker inside, both from the oncoming evening and a tree having fallen in front of the west-facing window, blocking out what little natural light there was. Patrick fumbled for the built in flashlight on his Pip-Boy, and it shone brightly, illuminating the entire room, a kitchen with a surpassingly still white refrigerator and stove, wood paneled pantries and cupboards and broken tables and chairs in a pale green light. Looking inside them all, he found some still perfectly sealed boxes of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, Potato Chips and Salisbury Steak in the kitchen, along with some regional delicacies such as Pound-o-Pierogi and Little Miss Nancy Sugar Cookies that wasn't available outside the area. The preservatives they had been packaged with should keep the food edible, if not exactly tasty, even this long after the apocalypse. He slipped them all into his bag anyway.
He carefully began to walk through the rest of the house, doing his best avoid weak spots on the floor and fallen supports that held up the second floor. Down the hall was a living room similar to the one at his home in Melita, with a frayed and nearly destroyed couch, lounger chair, TV without a broken glass screen exposing its electronic interiors and a radio, which, when Patrick experimentally turned the dial, blared to life, static and white noise filling the room and making Patrick jump in surprise.
Patrick turned it off again, caught his breath, and continued to look at what else was in the old house. There were some stairs that lead upstairs, but Patrick wasn't sure if the second floor could handle him as well as the ground floor was. However, he noticed a door that lead to the basement. Carefully nudging the door away, the rotten wood fell apart, exposing the dark, horribly musty smelling basement.
Patrick winced at the smell, but continued down the stairs anyway. Using his flashlight, he looked around the dark basement. There were old boxes, rusty metal ones and the remains of cardboard ones, having spilled their contents on the floor around them. He looked through a few, but all he found was personal belongings, broken bottles and tin cans that may have had food or was just the remnants of a hoarder's stash. A furnace and hot water heater in the corner, as well as big bulky washing machines and dryers, stood as silent testaments of a consumerist society long since gone. Some salvagers and merchants would love places like this, but Patrick wasn't here to make a few pounds. He wouldn't have been able to carry it all if he wanted too.
But as Patrick continued walking through the darkness of the basement, it felt… odd. Despite nothing being functional as he could see, Patrick could feel a dull throb, similar to how it felt like when he was a train. He couldn't hear it, but subtle vibrations underfoot made him uncomfortable, and maybe just a little disoriented. Why did it feel like machinery was running nearby?
Patrick continued looking through the basement, but couldn't find anything else. He turned around, climbed back up the stairs, and looked around the first floor again. It was dark now, the sun finally having set, and looking through the windows, all he could see was the glare of his Pip-Boy against the broken shards of glass, and beyond it a black expanse of nothing. He heard a snort and a couple hoofs pawing at the ground; Demon being the impatient and excited sleipnir he was. But he swore he could still feel the throb and rhythm of machinery, which continued to make Patrick uncomfortable and nervous.
Patrick quickly walked out of the house, and turned off his Pip-Boy light to be able to look around. The house was still dark: not even a long abandoned night light glowed from an upstairs window. The Barn and silos were dark as well, but, in the silent night with only a slight breeze rustling grass, creaking wooden supports of the few structures around, and Demon shuffling around, a faint, whirring mechanical sound could still be heard somewhere.
Patrick couldn't decide if it was his ears playing tricks on him, his tired brain acting up, or if there was actually something around here. He jogged over to the barn, and pushed open the door. It was impossible to see inside, so he switched on his Pip-Boy flashlight again, and was stunned at what he saw.
Three ridiculously long, rusty cars sat side by side at the back of the barn, with two larger, bulkier vehicles in front. While they were all rusty from age and lack of maintenance, The three cars at the back still had some of the black paint, and the windows that were broken from age seemed to be tinted at the back, preventing people from seeing inside them, so may have held VIPs, and, seeing inside one with the front windshield knocked out, there was a small fridge, beer and wine bottles scattered around what would have been plush leather interiors hadn't a century and a half of decay and aging ruined them.
What Patrick could only describe as two metal boxes on wheels at the front had machines guns on the roof in a little turret. Patrick walked in and looked around, noticing that, despite the red rust, a patchy encircled white star could be seen on the doors of the vehicles. He remembered seeing a picture of a similar vehicle with the star, taken in 2076 before the Great War, which described it as being an American military vehicle, nicknamed the "Matty," though the acronym was something like Multipurpose Armed Transport Protected Infantry Vehicle, MATPIV. There were, apparently a couple vehicles like this maintained as museum exhibits in Winnipeg. Patrick wasn't sure if any of them worked, but there were stories of how they could shrug off rocket rounds from Resistance fighters and protect the ten men inside from anything short of a nuclear bomb being dropped on it.
"But why are they here?" Patrick asked out loud to the American military vehicles and luxury cars parked in a barn in the middle of nowhere. Patrick was now even more confused. Something was around here, that was for sure.
Patrick left the barn and kept walking around the farmyard, trying to find out anything else. But after half an hour stumbling over fallen logs and radgopher burrows, Patrick glanced at his Pip-Boy to realize it said it was closer to midnight. He sighed, and walked back to where Demon continued grazing on grass. Maybe it was time to set up camp and call it a night.
Pulling out his sleeping bag and crawling in, setting his hat beside him, he fell asleep almost instantly, not realizing how tired he was.
In what felt like moments later, he could hear Demon whinnying, his multiple hooves crashing through the verandah trying to escape the rope that held him back. Patrick shot up, pulling out the .44 Magnum revolver that was almost always on his hip, and trying to aim it in the direction of whatever the threat was coming. The early morning sun, along with being trapped in his sleeping bag, disorienting and confounding Patrick, and he flailed about trying to figure out what Demon was terrified about.
Finally Patrick managed to escape his trap, and was standing up and holding his gun at… a floating metal ball?
Patrick blinked, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. He finally managed to focus on the object, and just stared at it. It was pretty much a sphere with antennas sticking out the back of it, and what looked like speakers at the front. There was a stump on the bottom, with sparks flying out of it, meaning that maybe something that had been on it was now broken off. Patrick could also see dents and in one place a bullet hole was punched into its side. It clicked continuously, and then a sudden burst of static and a ear piercing scream like when someone walked in front of a microphone from the speaker came out, making Demon rear back and whiney with alarm.
"Calm down Demon!" Patrick exclaimed, stumbling over to his panicked sleipnir, grabbing hold of the reins and pulling him down, stroking his muzzle. "Easy boy, easy."
After a moment, Demon calmed down, and Patrick turned around to see the robot thing was still hovering over the ground, as if looking at Patrick.
Patrick looked back, before he thought of something. "Where did you come from?" he asked the robot. It clicked a few more times, before turning around and hovering off. After a few feet it stopped, turned around, and clicked a few more times, as if saying "follow me!"
Patrick followed it, only grabbing his hat from where he had slept for the night. They had only gone 25 or so feet behind the house when Patrick was surprised a small hill in the countryside he hadn't noticed before, and the robot was heading straight for it. There were a couple old machines, similar to pre-war construction equipment, and large steel crates littered around as if they had been thrown away. The robot suddenly stopped in front of it, turned to Patrick, and clicked a few more times, before screeching another blast of noise from it's speakers, making Patrick cover his ears in ear piercing agony.
After the robot finished trying to deafen Patrick, he looked around. "There's nothing here," he said, glancing up at the robot, before walking to the hill. "Why am I here?"
As if an answer to the question, the hill shuddered to life. A loud siren filled the air, as two massive sliding metal doors opened up, unfolding to reveal a sloped passage downwards that had been expertly hidden away. The doors locked into place with a metallic crash, making Patrick jump in surprise at the heavy sounding noise. The robot simply glided down the ramp, not seeming to care if Patrick followed it anymore. But Patrick did follow it, and continued following it down the slightly angled path. There were lights up on the concrete wall of the tunnel, and they flashed on as the robot got close, as if on motion sensors. Patrick continued to follow close behind, looking around at the surprisingly intact and well-maintained tunnel, and nearly had his eye poked out as the robot stopped.
Patrick managed to dodge the antennas, ducking underneath the robot. He then looked ahead, and gasped at what was in front of him. A massive steel door that looked like a massive gear wheel was in front of him, and it instinctively reminded him of the door on Vault H. There was a symbol in the center where the H had been etched in and at first Patrick thought it was an E, but he realized there was a ring of stars around it, which he was pretty certain Vault H didn't have. The centerline of the E was made up of three smaller lines, which was another thing he knew Vault H didn't have.
"Attention unauthorized personnel!" a speaker blared off to the side, making Patrick jump and whip around. "Identify yourself!"
"Uhh," he paused, "My name is Patrick Morrison," Patrick said.
"Are you the representative, ambassador or leader of whatever society or culture that now exists in the world?" the voice asked back.
"Uhh, maybe?" Patrick said, confused and slightly scared. "I just followed a robot here."
"Please stand clear of the Vault door," the voice on the speaker then stated. Another alarm, a klaxon, this time with red strobe light, made Patrick jump backwards. He could hear grinding metal machines on the other side, followed by a series of metal clanks and crashes, before the heavy steel door was suddenly pulled back with a loud screech of metal on metal, a shower of sparks flying everywhere. The door finally was pulled in, and it was rolled to the side, showing an empty room.
"Please step inside, Ambassador," the voice in the speaker said, and, a bit shocked, Patrick complied.
He walked into the yawning hole left by the metal door, and looked around, trying to see what was around. He saw a control panel with some levers on it, and Patrick walked up to it.
"Don't touch anything!" the intercom shouted, making Patrick jump back again. "Please keep your dirty, irradiated hands off any machines or surfaces in the Vault."
Patrick was about to argue he wasn't irradiated when the sirens and red light came on again, this time the Vault door reversing. An arm attached to the door rolled it back, and after it finished it's job and pulled off, a second arm swung down off the roof and locked into place, pushing the door back into its place.
"Please wait for decontamination personnel to meet you," the intercom ordered.
"But I'm not irradiated. I don't think I've ever stepped in radiation," Patrick replied back.
"Rules are rules. You will not be allowed to talk to the leadership of the Enclave until you have been deemed satisfactorily safe and clean," the speaker replied.
"Wait, what is the Enclave?" Patrick asked. But there was no answer.
Part of the wall, which Patrick had not noticed was a door, suddenly slid open and three people in white plastic suits walked in. One was carrying a Geiger counter, and waving it about over Patrick while the other two, one with a cart and the other with a metal box, followed behind. There were a few clicks and chirps from the machine, which made the person with the Geiger counter make some symbols with his hand. The other two people nodded, and the one with the box set it down, and pointed to a corner of the room with what appeared to be a small shower.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Patrick asked, confused now.
"You and your possessions need to be decontaminated before you can enter," one of the people, a woman from her voice, said behind the plastic suit. "We cannot allow radiation or biological agents into this Vault."
Patrick sighed. "Alright, so what do I have to do?"
"Please hand over your bag. We will not destroy it, but you will not be allowed to take it with you," the woman said. "After, please remove all clothes and use the shower over there," she continued, pointing to a secluded, curtained off area. "After that, we will provide new clothes… wait, is that a Pip-Boy 3000?"
Patrick looked at his wrist. "Yeah, it is."
"Are you a Vault Dweller?" she asked, her voice now excited. "Gosh, can't believe there are civilizations from the Vaults that sprung up!"
"Actually, no," Patrick said. "I got this from the mayor of my town, who was in a Vault, Vault H near Winnipeg."
"Oh," she said, disappointment in her voice. "Well, please remove your Pip-Boy, and we will hand decontaminate it. Then we will provide new clothes and allow you to enter the Vault proper."
Patrick nodded, and walked to the curtain, before stripping out of his clothes, and pulling the plastic around him. He was glad that he was actually able to shower after weeks without, though there wasn't any soap or anything. There was a button on the wall, with a "Decontaminate" label over it. Patrick pushed the button, to be greeted by soapy smelling warm water cascading over him. He ran his fingers through his hair and over his body, watching the grease, grime and dust of traveling wash away. The water changed suddenly to non-soap, and was pure water, which Patrick used to rinse himself off. Then the shower turned off automatically, leaving Patrick standing soaking wet in the shower. The curtain rustled, and Patrick saw a towel being handed to him. He vigorously dried himself off, and swung the towel over the edge of the shower, and was handed some underwear and another blue and yellow jumpsuit, similar to the one he wore when infiltrating Vault H. He looked it over, and noticed that instead of the H on the back, it had the E with stars around it like the Vault door. With a shrug, slipped the offered clothes on
He pushed aside the curtain to see the two other bio-hazard suit clad people going over each item in his bag: food, weapons, the cash he was carrying. They stopped to look at the paper money in surprise.
"There is a civilization up there that uses paper currency?" one of them asked Patrick. "All our models indicated that people would only be using bottle caps or something."
Patrick nodded. "Yeah, that's my country, Assiniboia."
"Ass… wait, an entire country?"
"Yeah," Patrick asked, confused. "Haven't you heard about it?"
"We are unaware of any developments that have occurred in the world," the lady in the plastic outfit said. She pushed a button to the side of the door, opening it up to reveal two soldiers in grey and black uniforms, each holding a big gun that Patrick thought might have been a rifle, but was blocker and glowed green in several spots.
"Come with us, Ambassador," one of the soldiers said, before walking off. Patrick hesitated a moment, but the second waved his gun to follow after the first guy. Patrick followed then.
The Vault here was very similar to Vault H. Patrick had no idea if it was laid out similarly to the one near Winnipeg, but he could tell that some things were the same. The grey metallic and concrete walls were the big one, along with the fancy, pneumatic doors that separated the rooms were virtually the same. However, more people where around, and they all seemed to look at Patrick with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, as if he was an animal in a zoo, and dangerous, unknown and wild one. Winnipeg used to have a zoo, but Assiniboia had more pressing concerns than making sure the animals survived. And, unfortunately, almost none of them did, the need for food and radiation illness killing most of them.
The maze through the Vault took Patrick past a massive underground hanger, but with only five weird machines inside, looking like some insect with rotors, machine guns and hoses attached to it.
"What are those?" Patrick asked to the soldier in front of him.
"Vertibirds," he said gruffly. "Supposed to be machines that you can fly. Never seen one do it though."
Patrick heard it was possible to do that, at least before the War of 2077 and when there was actually some fuel to do it. Winnipeg still had an airport, though the planes that had been parked there have since been taken apart and recycled.
Finally, the first soldier stopped outside a double door, which, unlike the other ones around, looked like a couple old fashioned wooden doors, complete with gold colored door handles.
"We are here," the soldier said, reaching for one of the doors. "The Enclave Council is expecting you."
Patrick nodded, swallowed, and walked into the room. The walls were wood paneled, like the Vault H Overseer's office, but instead of a horseshoe desk, there was another long table, also wood. It seemed like these Enclave guys liked wooden stuff, as Patrick had seen more wooden objects that wasn't a house or used for firewood in the past few minutes than he would have seen in years up north. A large map of the world, with the nations of 2077 printed on it, was on one wall, and flanked by two flagpoles with the old US flag, the 13 red and white stripes and 12 stars on a blue field in the top left corner surrounding a thirteenth, larger white star. Two dozen high backed, plush chairs ringed the table, but only four of them were currently filled with three men and one woman. Two of the men wore black suits with ties, the women wore a bright blue outfit as well, while the last man wore a fancier black and grey uniform like the soldiers that escorted him here.
The four Enclave people stood up as Patrick entered. "Greetings Ambassador," the small, older bald man in the center said. "We are pleased that you have agreed to meet with the Enclave.
"I'm Speaker of the House of Representatives and Acting President of the United States J. W. Graham," the man continued, before pointing to the man beside him. "This is Secretary of Defense Creighton Hawthorne, and Secretary of State Elizabeth Morgan," he continued, pointing to the lady, and then to solider; "and Colonel Gabriel Granger, Chief of Staff of the US Armed Forces." Speaker Graham sat down. "We are the members of the Surface Ambassadorial Committee, the body of the Enclave Congress chosen to speak to the representative of whatever surface society the Enclave meets.
Patrick gave a small laugh. "I wasn't aware you were seeking an Ambassador. I have no diplomatic skills at all."
The man raised an eyebrow. "No? Didn't our Eyebot Scout ask for a representative of whatever human civilization currently exists above ground?"
Patrick shook his head. "It didn't say anything. Something was wrong with it, it only screeched and clicked."
The man looked at Patrick, drumming his fingers on the table. "Hmm, this was unexpected." He waved Patrick to sit down. "No matter, you may still be of use to the Enclave."
"What is the Enclave?" Patrick asked.
The man smiled. "The Enclave is America. The Enclave was… no, is, the leadership of the United States of America: political, economic and scientific. The men and women here are descendants of the best and brightest of what our great Union had, kept safe to preserve not only the human race but also the ideals of America in the event of a great catastrophe, which, as I'm sure you are well aware, has happened.
"And now that we have met human civilization," he continued leaning forward, "we can retake our rightful place in leading the world. Starting with whatever 'nation' you are from."
Pip-Boy 3000 Infotracker Note #398
What is America?
For over a hundred years, the United States has been the boogeyman in the Dominion of Assiniboia. And, to be fair, the United States had done some despicable things when it was the greatest, most powerful nation on earth. It's the goal of the America Rehabilitation Society to remember the positives of the once great nation.
For example, America was the first democracy in the world! The Founding Fathers, when they wrote the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution ensured that the people were paramount, with elections held for everything from the President of the United States, to representatives, governors, judges, school boards and even police officers, dog catchers and who would coach various sports teams! There was never such a thing as too much democracy, and it made the United States a great country.
But it was also strong and powerful. It was the first country to use nuclear weapons, and was able to drive the British, Mexicans, Canadians, Germans, Russians and Chinese out whenever they tried to invade, and won every single war they ever fought.
But they were a force for good, bringing capitalism and democracy to the whole world. And, while the US may have annexed Canada, Mexico, Cuba, and other countries, then used their natural resources, brutally crushed any opposition, and ended up nuking the world, they only did it to protect the people from being tempted by Communism, and to ensure that the whole world was free to do what it wanted.
So the next time you see something American, remember that they aren't the bad guys. They may have done some bad stuff, but what country hasn't? They are just misunderstood, so that is why we, the America Rehabilitation Society, is trying to show the good things they have done!