Chapter Fourteen
Colonel Granger found three volunteers willing to go up on the surface, and he decided to join them as well. Patrick went to get his backpack, along with his old clothes, which weren't destroyed (much to Patrick's relief; he really liked his Brahmin leather hat), as well as all his weapons. He was glad to slip his .44 Magnum into his holster. It was a comfortable weight, and security in Assiniboia. The old saying "an armed society is a polite society" may not always be true (Patrick having seen his share of gunfights in the streets of Melita when arguments went out of control) but it was the best way to keep one safe when you were otherwise alone.
When Patrick finally made it up to the Vault entrance, he gasped in surprise.
"You guys have power armor?" Patrick asked, eyes wide in shock and fairly intimidated at seven and eight foot tall metal clad soldiers standing at the entrance. But it also didn't look anything like the power armor that Patrick had seen drawings or pictures of before. Other Power Armor seemed more angular and cobbled together, rusty and unrefined. This power armor was impressive, though intimidating and downright scary at times: graceful curves instead of rough angles, and a perfect paint job, though the helmet they were wearing, a mixture of what a massive insect man would look like if he were turned into a robot was, to put it frankly, unnerving and maybe just a bit terrifying. If that's what they were designing for, then good job on the engineers.
One of them took off their helmet, revealing Colonel Granger. "Yeah, a special model that scientists here have been working on for decades. We call it the X-01 model, an improvement over the old T-51b: is lighter, able to move faster, increase the strength of the wearer, and provide improved protection from the user from weapons and radiation, as well as providing a secure storage space. It's perhaps the best piece of military technology ever designed," Colonel Granger was nearly gushing over the metal clad suit of armor he was wearing, before looked up at Patrick. "Something wrong?"
"Well, the Brotherhood of Steel has working power armor as well, and if we are going to be walking into Assiniboia territory, it might raise questions," Patrick explained.
"Oh," Colonel Granger said, that one word encapsulating everything.
"Well… do you have a flag or something? Something to better identify you by?"
"I'm sure we have an American flag somewhere. Rogers!" he barked at one of the other power-armored men, who stiffened and saluted. "Go to the quartermaster, see if you can commander a flag. On the double!"
The soldier saluted again, and ran off, his suit clanking as he did so. A few moment he returned with a flag like the one in the ones in the meeting room, and a short pole that they could attach the flag to. Until it was needed, it was placed into one of the storage packs of the soldiers.
"Alright, I think we got everything now," Granger said, putting his helmet back on. He turned to a computer monitor with the name MAVIS, the name of the computer system that operated the vault, painted on it. "MAVIS, open the main door."
"One moment. Please stand by," a female voice replied. "Opening main door. Stand clear!"
An arm reached down and fastened on the center of the door. With a loud whirring and gridning of machines and gears, the arm began to roll the big steel door off to side, opening up to the outside world again. When the clash of metal and gears finally stopped, everyone looked at each other for a long moment before Patrick, with a sigh, was the first to step forward and through the large, 12 foot hole in the ground. Maybe it was nervousness, politeness or fear, but the four big power armored me let him go first and walk through the big door.
After the five left the Vault, the door began to slid close, with a siren wailing to make sure no one got in the way of the massive steel door.
"Well, off we go into the Great Unknown," one of the soldiers said, his voice both muffled and amplified by his helmet that he was wearing. As if the helmet was disconcerting enough, now the man's voice was awkward.
The metal sliding door that hid the Vault from the outside world now opened again. The sunlight pouring through the opening was enough to dazzle Patrick after a couple days underground. But behind him, there were gasps and one cry of pain and agony.
"Oww!" cried one man, the only one of the soldiers not wearing his helmet cried out. "It hurts!"
"You dumbass!" Colonel Granger, who was wearing his helmet, barked out. "The helmets would help your eyes adjust to the sun. And you just had to take it off!"
The power-armored solider couldn't reply, instead falling to the ground in agony. Colonel Granger sighed, and waved to one of the other soldiers. "Get him back into the Vault, then come back, okay. We will not be leaving the area until you return."
"Yes sir!" he said, saluting.
"As for the rest of you, keep your helmets on as much as possible. We are not, and cannot get used to the sunlight for a long time," Colonel Granger said. He turned to Patrick, who was also adjusting his eyes to the sun. "After spending our entire lives underground, coming out like this is, perhaps, the worst thing we could have done."
"I totally understand. Hope you can overcome that soon."
The three remaining men continued up the ramp and finally onto the ground. The last enlisted soldier made a few squeaks, looking around before standing still.
"What's wrong now Rogers?" Colonel Granger said when he realized he was the only Enclave soldier walking forward.
He didn't say anything, but started walking backward. "It… It's so big," he stammered, before falling to the ground, looking down
Colonel Granger groaned. "Great, agoraphobia now. The eggheads told me this might happen." He turned around and marched down the stairs. "Rogers, get up."
The Enclave soldier named Rogers just hugged the ground as much as he could, whimpering like a little puppy. Patrick sighed.
"Fine, go back to the Vault as well. When I get back, you will be reassigned."
Rogers meekly nodded, shuffling backwards, before turning around and nearly sprinting back to the Vault door, banging on it to let him back in.
Colonel Granger sighed, the helmet making it sound like it was a train losing steam and powering down. He then began looking around the landscape, the dust and little scraggly grass that struggled to grow in the heat and cold of the northern climates. "Sure is big though."
Patrick silently nodded, before he started walking back to the farmstead. "I need to grab my sleipnir."
"Your what?" Granger asked, turning around.
"It's my… uhhh… Oh, what do you call them," Patrick said, forgetting the pre-war, un-mutated name of Assiniboia's most well known creature. "Uhh… horse?"
"You guys still have horses? I thought they all would have died off from the radiation."
"Kind of. They had been mutated from what you guys would have known horses to be, but they are very important since we don't have cars or anything that works," Patrick replied.
"Hmm… well I want to see this."
Patrick and the Colonel tramped off to the farmstead that Patrick was certain was farther away from the Vault than he remembered. They walked around the corner of the house to see Demon contently grazing on the weed like plants that had grown around the edge of the verandah he had been tied to. When he heard two footsteps, one of them metallic, Demon pulled it's head up, and snorted, nickering nervously.
"Hey there, don't worry, it's not a robot," Patrick said. "He seems to not like robots very much.
"Well it's a good thing I'm not a robot then," Colonel Granger said, but the muffled, inhuman voice from the metal creature made Demon whiney and try to back away, but he was held from running off by the surprisingly strong rope Patrick had tied him with.
Patrick walked up, being careful to avoid the four front hooves now flying in terror in front of Demon. "Easy boy!" he shouted, grabbing the reins that hung down. "Colonel, could you either back away or take off your helmet or something?"
Granger hastily backed up behind the house, and after a few moments Demon was calmer. Patrick said some reassuring words, stroking the side of his mount. "Easy there, easy."
A moment later Colonel Granger clamped back, but this time without his helmet. However, he was wearing a large pair of sunglasses, most likely to make sure his eyes wouldn't be damaged from the harsh sun. "Is it okay now?"
Demon shuffled a bit, but with Patrick there, he was more content. "I think he's going to be okay."
Colonel Granger strolled up, looking around Demon. "Interesting, eight legs. We had no idea what kind of mutations would happen," he said. "What other creatures are there?"
Patrick chuckled. "Way too many. Brahmin… cows with two heads, I think; giant ants and scorpions that sometimes come here from the south. There are other creatures as well, but I have no idea what they would have been before the bombs fell."
Colonel Granger had slowly come up to the snorting, nervous Demon, but when he reached a hand forward to pet the sleipnir, Demon didn't pull back as he would have, now that he saw something with the machine man person that was human. Colonel Granger rubbed over the thick, yet soft, fur of the eight-legged creature, silently admiring the sleipnir.
A few moments later, after Patrick had taken care of Demon and got him ready to travel, the last power armored soldier that wasn't injured or scared of the outside world came around the house, looking for Patrick and the colonel. When he came up, he only saluted, and waited for Colonel Granger to notice him.
"Ah, good, you're here Deadeye. At least one of you still want to come." he turned to Patrick. "Well, I guess we can go now. Lead the way."
The journey back to Brahmin Springs was uneventful. Or, compared to other things Patrick had done in the past few weeks, as uneventful as a trip as any. For the first time in a while he saw some radgophers, and he took out his revolver to take some shots at it. However, the range was a bit off, and he missed. But even as the radgopher was scampering off, Deadeye pulled a fancy looking energy rifle off of his back, aimed and fired, barely pausing in-between any step. The radgopher froze in mid stride and fell over, dead.
"Wow, that was a great shot," Patrick said, whistling as he turned Demon to go look at the radgopher.
Deadeye didn't say anything, but Colonel Granger chuckled. "Deadeye here is the best sniper we have in the Enclave. We ended up setting a shooting range in the hanger, and he was expertly picking off targets on the other side of the room, even when we made them randomly jump around or zig-zag." He sounded so proud, as a father would of an especially smart, strong or successful son.
Patrick claimed the tail from the radgopher, and added it to his backpack, sighing. "I almost thought I would have gotten more of these when I set out."
"Why did you leave your home?" Colonel Granger asked as Patrick climbed back up on his mount and they walked off to the east again.
"My brother was taken by some raiders, along with a bunch of other kids from the towns where I grew up," Patrick explained. "Also killed my grandfather and injured my grandma. I've been trying to find him, but all it's done is lead me into a helping the RAMP and other people, hoping they may have some information."
Colonel Granger nodded. "I'm sorry to hear," he said, and Patrick noticed that the Colonel seemed genuinely sorry, not just saying it because it was polite. "I sure do hope you find him and the others."
Patrick ground his teeth together as they continued walking east. Was it too late? For all he knew, Zach was now a slave to some group of raiders, or all alone in the middle of the vast wasteland, which meant that it would take a miracle to find him. Patrick didn't want to think of the other possibility.
It was late when the trio finally arrived at Brahmin Springs. Patrick's Pip-Boy said it was just a bit past 2 AM, though his yawning and unfocused mind told him it felt much later than that. They did make pretty good time, but at this point Patrick was much more content to travel by train.
Colonel Granger looked around at the huts, shacks and dilapidated old-world buildings with a mixture of contempt and disbelief. "So is the entire world like this now?"
"Well, kind of," Patrick replied as he pulled Demon to a stop in front of the motel he had been staying at. "Winnipeg, I promise, is a lot better." The polite laugh from the Colonel meant that he didn't quite believe Patrick.
With Demon tied up, Patrick entered the motel, to find the young boy that had given him some problems before sitting at the desk. But when two power armored soldiers marched in right behind Patrick, Carroll Kovak's face turned pale as a ghost. "You… you have Brotherhood guys with now," he whimpered, hiding behind the desk. "Are you just trying to oppress us even more?"
Patrick turned to the Colonel. "Told you this would happen." Patrick sighed and looked at Carroll. "Look, I'm not here for trouble. These are not BoS guys. Just need a couple rooms for the night, please."
A door in the back slammed open, and Bill Kovak, in a threadbare bathrobe holding a shotgun stumbled out. "What the hell is… Patrick?"
"Yes, it's me. Surprise!" the Assiniboian said, waving his hands in front of him like a stage magician.
Bill looked over the metal clad men behind him, and blinked. "Who are they?"
"I'm Colonel Gabriel Granger of the Enclave Armed Forces," he said, giving a salute. "We are the remnants of the former government of the United States."
Carroll perked up. "The United States? It still exists?"
"Not really," Granger said. "We are just the descendants of former government, military and economic leaders of the US."
Before Granger could go on, Patrick cleared his throat, then yawned. "We've been traveling all day. Could we please get a room and get some sleep?"
Bill just sighed. "Patrick, ever since you've come here you've brought nothing but strange and weird things to my hotel."
"Well, that's the Wasteland for you," Patrick said, yawning. "But can I explain it in the morning?"
It took over an hour to tell Bill this story over eggs and steak, and he sat there in shock at everything that had happened. Colonel Granger and Deadeye were still asleep, leaving Patrick and Bill Kovak alone this early in the morning.
"So Old Man Jimmy was right?"
"Yeah, but it was just one damaged robot," Patrick explained. "Still, found an entire vault of people!"
Bill just chuckled. "And to think that there was a US government here almost the entire time." He shook his head. "I think you need a drink."
"No, it's too early in the morning," Patrick said, finishing his eggs.
"So what now?" Bill asked.
"They want to get into contact with Assiniboia, so I need to get on the radio and talk with Winnipeg. Do you have something I can use?"
"Yeah, I have one of those radiogram machines in my office. Let's call them."
The Vanderbrok RadioTeleprinter machine, like the one that Bill Kovak had, was one of the most advanced technologies in Assiniboia. The brass and wood case of the device made it look like it was from the pre-war era. But the important features, including a computer screen, keyboard, and the switches and toggles on the front casing, all seemed to blend in, without looking like it had been cobbled together by a scavenger for a purely functional machine. This looked like it worked and would look nice. Too bad they were expensive as hell.
"I only got this because every town is required to have one," Bill said when Patrick mentioned that. "So they just gave me a machine, since there isn't a train station that they normally would use." Bill sat at the keyboard. "So where do you want it to go?"
"RAMP HQ," Patrick said. "Tell them that the Auxiliary requires assistance at Brahmin Springs, and that we have met a group that wishes to speak with Assiniboia."
"Not going to mention that they are part of the former US?" Bill asked.
"One step at a time," Patrick said.
Bill typed away at the keyboard, then hit the "Send" button when Patrick was satisified with the message.
"Now, sending the message from one point and receiving it on the other end isn't an issue," Bill said. "It all happens in a blink of an eye. Getting it to the right person, on the other hand, that can take time."
Before Bill even finished saying that, there was a bell chime from inside the machine, followed by a message appearing on the computer screen.
"Huh, they must have been expecting you," Bill said, tapping a few keys on the keyboard to open the message.
TO: PATRICK MORRISON, AUXILIARY
MESSAGE: YOU ARE ORDERED TO REPORT TO WINNIPEG ASAP. ALL OTHER BUSINESS IS TO BE PUT ON HOLD UNTIL THEN. REPORT TO COMMISSIONER RAYMOND WHEN YOU ARRIVE. RAMP RIVER BOAT IS BEING SENT DOWN NOW.
"That… doesn't sound good," Bill said, looking up to Patrick, who blinked in surprise.
Patrick looked back to Bill. "I think I can use that drink now."
Patrick might not have gotten seasick, but the Enclave soldiers were nervous at the small craft that came down the Red River to dock at Brahmin Springs around 3 PM that afternoon. About thirty feet long and made out of re-refined steel, it used a specially designed fusion motor, basically a smaller version that was used on the fancy UAR trains, and similar to the kind used on the cars that were built right before the War of 2077. On the side, RAMP was painted in bright red letters with a smaller Ste. Agathe giving the name of the ship (most were named after pre-War towns that were on one of the three main rivers of Assiniboia, the Red, the Assiniboine, and the Souris). The three officers on board where RAMP members, but wearing a special blue uniform that made them stand out as part of the Naval branch of the RAMP. There were two machine guns, one on the front and one on the back, which would possibly be maintained by the other two RAMP members.
The captain, who was actually a Captain of the RAMP, looked over the edge of the boat and waved to Patrick. "Ahoy there," he shouted, as he jumped off the boat and onto the pier, walking to Patrick, and offering his hand. "I'm Captain John Edwards. You must be the Auxiliary the radio has been talking about."
"Yeah, that's me," Patrick said, accepting the handshake.
The Captain then looked at the two Enclave men flanking Patrick. "And who are they?"
"I'm Colonel Gabriel Granger, and this is 'Deadeye.' We are part of the Enclave, the remnant of the US Government."
The captain and the two other sailors all looked at each other, then too the power armored men, then to Patrick. "I wasn't told anything about this," Captain Edwards said.
"Mostly because I wasn't able to tell Winnipeg. They just ordered me to go up to Winnipeg, and I wasn't able to tell them why I needed help," Patrick said.
Captain Edwards looked up over the power-armored men, one with sunglasses and the other with the disconcerting helmet. The captain forced a smile, despite his apparent discomfort. "Nice to meet you gentlemen."
Colonel Granger either didn't notice or did his best not to care. "Likewise Captain." Deadeye only nodded.
"Is it alright if they come with me anyway?" Patrick said. "They would like to meet up with the government."
The Captain looked at his boat, then back at the power armored men. "We weren't exactly expecting power armored men to ride along on the boat, but we should be able to take them anyway. Alright, well if you will all get on board, we can get going," he said, ushering them all onto the Ste. Agathe. "We have some sandwiches for you if you are hungry, but hopefully we will get to Winnipeg in time for dinner. And don't worry about your sleipnir, we have food and water for it as well."
Once everyone and everything was loaded, the RAMP boat turned easily backed away from the dock and turned around, before speeding it's way north, the bow rising out of the water as it picked up speed.
Colonel Granger and Deadeye sat, or more appropriately huddled, in the middle of the boat, and they were clearly not handling it as well as everyone else. Deadeye even ended up taking his helmet off for the first time since he left the Vault just to throw up over the side of the boat. Demon was a bit unsteady on the boat, but with the help of food and some blinders that were placed on his head, he didn't panic too much. Maybe three weeks of train riding made him more comfortable? Patrick sure hoped so.
Patrick sat at the rear of the boat where the captain steered the vessel through the bumpy Red River. He deftly steered past the ruins of a bridge that had once crossed the river, connecting Minnesota and North Dakota. In some spots you could see where towns and farms once perched along the river, though most of them were abandoned now, hollow ruins scavenged over years before and forgotten.
"Captain, what's been going on back home?" Patrick asked.
"More reservists have been called up for armed duty," Captain Edwards replied, steering around a log in the river. "There are rumors that Assiniboia had sent a member of the Foreign Ministry for discussions at Fargo for a resolution to the crisis, but the BoS seemed to have refused to negotiate. More likely that no one could agree to anything."
Patrick sighed. "I liked it when I was able to farm without a worry in the world besides the weather and how the crops were coming."
Captain Edwards chuckled. "I was the exact opposite. My family had a farm around New Winnipeg, but I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could, and not have to look at the south end of a northbound brahmin." He looked over to Patrick and smiled. "Been in the RAMP for over 30 years now, and 20 of them on boats like this."
"That's good for you," Patrick said. "I just wish that no raiders had taken my brother through, and I could just be listening to the radio of everything happening."
Captain Edwards smoothly turned the wheel, making the Ste. Agathe deftly sail through the bends of the river. "That kind of small thinking is most likely what lead Assiniboia into the mess it's in now."
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"The Brotherhood, as powerful as they are, only care about one thing: how many people Assiniboia has in the army. They may consider economics and social issues, but only as a side show, something to distract. They don't see the true power of Assiniboia, which is that we have a large population, a steady supply of food, and industry to make new products. All the men with guns in the army in the world can't match a nation that's balanced and unified.
"That said, Assiniboia isn't exactly looking at the big picture either. The Prime Minister, the RAMP, the entire governmnet cares about only one place: Winnipeg. When issues pop up in different districts is a 'local' problem to Winnipeg, and it's allowed to fester due to the lack or resources districts would have. Hell, Brandon was once tolerable as an independent city-state, but that was long before the Syndicate took it over and made it one of the worst hives of scum and villainy you would ever see."
Patrick grunted, and looked over the river, at the speeding banks that flew by. He didn't care about all that. But should he?
"But people that live, like you did, on farms and small towns, who only care about the next harvest, the next radstorm, close their minds off from the rest of the world. It's not the threats that you know that are the big problem. It's the possible threats that you don't pay attention to that can suddenly pop up and cause chaos. Did you ever expect Raiders to attack Melita?"
"Well, no," Patrick said.
"No one did. That's why they got away with it."
"But what does that mean? Even if we were prepared for it, if we were expecting it, they may have still did what they did."
"All I can say about it is that a problem in one place will lead to issues elsewhere. Cause and effect, some people call it. Hell, if what I've heard about you is true, having your brother kidnapped could be one of the best things to ever happen to you and Assiniboia."
Patrick spun around. "What? What?" he barked, incredulous. "You think stealing a young boy, killing our grandfather and injuring our grandmother was good?"
Captain Edwards didn't even blink as Patrick started screaming. "I'm not saying that losing your family is a good thing. No, that's never the case. What I'm saying is the effect of you searching for your brother is the good thing."
Patrick growled. "And why would you think that? Just because I solved some problems in some towns and killed some bandits, it suddenly makes up for losing my brother and grandfather? Anyone could have done those things!"
"But you did," Captain Edwards stated. "Anyone could have, but no one had until you came along and did those things. Because your family was torn apart you helped others. And, as a big believer in fair play, I'm sure that because of everything you've done, it will come around and help you in the end. Karma, I think they called it."
Patrick grunted, and walked forward to watch and care for Demon, leaving the captain to his job. He didn't want to admit that the Captain was right, but he wasn't wrong either. He would never have gone anywhere without that push from wanting to find his brother again. But this wasn't totally to help everyone else because his problems couldn't be solved. This was…
What? Patrick had no idea how to answer that. It was now three weeks since his brother had disappeared. Was it even worth it to keep looking now? He scowled. No. He wasn't going to give up just because the chances were stacked up against him.
The Wasteland is a crazy place. Maybe it was just crazy enough that he would found his brother.
The Ste. Agathe continued up the Red River as the sun began to set. The river was winding its way past the University of Manitoba, with all it's lights blazing bright as night approached. To the right St. Vital wasn't as bright, but every few blocks you could see a grouping where people were milling about, while there were long and depressing stretches where no one could be seen. Not that there wouldn't be anyone, as this, along with Fort Garry on the other side of the river, were the best places for those who wanted to be left alone or hide but still stay in Winnipeg would go.
As they continued up the river, more and more city blocks were lit, some even by streetlights that should have long ago been useless. But using special fusion batteries and even hydroelectric power from the dam near Selkirk, you could power enough of the city apparently. The biggest grouping of lights was in Osborne Village, where those that had some pounds to their name, but not an excessive amount, would live and work.
Further to the north, and past the railway that brought Patrick to Winnipeg a few weeks ago, was the Forks, and it was as bright as daylight there. All manner of lights, ranging from streetlights to burning torches to specially made and repaired neon signs could be seen flickering away, illuminating everyone and everything in the perpetual market that was the Forks.
The boat continued past most of the Forks, and the variety of boats tied up to the docks and piers that hugged the river line. To the north, near where the old baseball stadium was, the Ste. Agathe finally slowed down almost to a standstill, and drifted toward another, less well lighted dock where the RAMP and the Army maintained their ships. Assiniboia's rivers had long been known to be a viable transportation route, way back when Europeans came to trade fur and trinkets with the Indians that lived here. Though trains and cars supplanted all but leisure sailing before 2077, boats made a huge comeback after the apocalypse, especially when an engineer managed to take the fusion engines from the Chrysalis cars and converted them for naval use. While trains may be more reliable and faster, boats were more maneuverable and able to be used from up north in Lake Winnipeg all the way down to Fargo and further below.
When the Ste. Agathe was finally tied up at the pier and everyone was allowed off, the Enclave members were very reluctant to get off, even though the boat wasn't that fun for them.
That Captain turned to Patrick. "Just remember, Auxiliary, you are doing a great thing for Assiniboia, and I know it will come back to help you later."
Patrick could only nod, and lead Demon off the boat and onto the pier. He walked off onto the shore itself, where five RAMP officers were standing. One pointed at Patrick, and the rest turned around. Patrick saw that four of them were Dragoons, with their distinctive Red Serge that made them stand out from the rest of the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police. A shorter woman in the middle was also wearing the traditional RAMP uniform, complete with the perfectly aligned brown Stetson on her head with the pinched peaks, but with enough gold ornaments and decorations to make it clear that he was a high ranking officer.
The decorated woman walked up, and saluted, and Patrick did his best to return it.
"Welcome back to Winnipeg, Auxiliary Morrison," she said it, her voice instantly recognizable to Patrick as being Commissioner Jennifer Raymond. "I hope your trip wasn't too bad."
"It was alright," Patrick admitted.
"Good. Now, I have a few words for you," she interrupted, her voice turning cold and making Patrick wince. "Atwood is currently screaming for your head, but a lady claiming to be the minister for the town came in with a tribal, telling us what happened at Atwood. Now, We would have preferred if any issues that came up in towns with the RAMP be handled at we detachment level, but if half of what this Julie is saying is true, then I realize that wouldn't be possible. So, consider this both a 'good job' and a warning to try not to let such issues come up again."
"Yes sir… ma'am, I understand," Patrick said, grimacing at the possible outcome of letting Sergeant Black go free again. But that wasn't his concern for now, at least.
"Though I also have to commend you on your actions at Vault H as well. We have developed a strong case, and though the Dominion wants to keep it quiet, we are glad you managed to root out the Brotherhood of Steel influence there." Commissioner Raymond paused again. "And other than the cannibals you uncovered at Mord-Wink, with a tiral already underway, I think that's that. What do you have to report?"
"Sir, I've made contact with an unopened Vault who are descendants of the former US government."
There was a long silence. "Pardon?"
"There is a Vault full of people calling themselves the Enclave, with advanced weapons and technology, and they wish to meet with Assiniboia."
The silence was even longer now. "I've heard lots of crazy things, but that is perhaps one of the craziest. And having talked with the guys back in Melita, I know you aren't one to make things up, but this seems pretty incredible."
"I swear I'm not." Patrick looked over his shoulder, to see Colonel Granger, pale from the seasickness, finally stumble onto land. The Dragoons, suddenly raised their weapons.
"Hey!" Patrick shouted. "They aren't Brotherhood! I promise!"
The Dragoons lowered their guns, but not too much.
Deadeye next tried to jump off, though his balance was off and he then nearly fell into the river. Only the four dockhands that were there to help with the boat prevented him from being pitched in. And considering that it was several hundred pounds of steel and armor, falling into the Red River in power armor would not have been fun.
Captain Edwards shouted from the boat. "Give him a few hours rest, and tomorrow he should be fine." He then turned and barked some orders to the crew, and the Ste. Agathe began to putter down the river to the RAMP docks.
Commissioner Raymond looked over at them. "Who are they?"
"They are members of the Enclave I just mentioned. Part of the old US Government."
Commissioner Raymond looked over the two power armored men. "Well, they clearly aren't Brotherhood guys. That power armor is different from any I've seen."
"Apparently they developed their own," Patrick explained.
Commissioner Raymond hmmed. "Well, if they are who you say they are, then they could become valuable allies of Assiniboia. I will need to talk to the Prime Minister about it first though."
She was about to say something else when a Sleipnir rider, in red combat armor, galloped up and came to a halt beside Commissioner Raymond. "Commissioner! We just received this for you."
"Could it not have waited until I got back to the office?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You wanted this delivered to you as soon as we recieved any information." The rider handed a piece of paper to the Commissioner then saluted, and turned around and galloped back to the Forks and Main Street.
Commissioner Raymond took the paper, and looked it over. "Hmmm. This is… fortuitous, I could say," she said, folding the paper and looking up at Patrick. "I have some good news and bad news for you."
"Alright, what's the good news?" Patrick asked.
"The RAMP has been doing it's best to find Zach Morrison, your brother, and we have some leads as to where he, and the other kids that were taken, may be."
Patrick blinked in surprise, and then broke in a laughter filled beam. "Wow, I didn't believe you guys were actually doing that!"
Commissioner Raymond remained serious, though looked like she was affronted that anyone would doubt him. "The RAMP keeps our word. I may not see eye to eye with Commander Mackenzie back at Metigoshe, but I did order some resources to look for the missing kids, as he promised we would. And due to all the help you've given to Assiniboia, it's the least we can do. But that leads me to the bad news."
Patrick's joy began to sap away. "What now?"
"The best lead we have for your brother is in Brandon. And Brandon right now seems intent on causing some trouble out west since we are busy with the Brotherhood.
Patrick's heart suddenly went into freefall. Brandon was one of the last places he wanted to ever find himself in.
"So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, would you be willing to go to Brandon and help us some more? And maybe find your brother?"
Pip-Boy 3000 InfoTracker Note #92
A Short History of the Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police
The RAMP is the pride of Assiniboia: a symbol of both the impressive strides made in the name of freedom and security in Assiniboia, and of the proud historical heritage of old Canada. Based off of the traditions of the world famous Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the RAMP was established from the remnants of the older police force after War of 2077. The Pre-War Police force had been forcibly dismantled by the United States Occupation Forces in 2073 when the RCMP did nothing to quell anti-American protests and riots after the annexation. Many officers soon became rebels, using their policing and firearms skills to strike back at the US Occupation. Soon possessing the famed Red Serge or anything that tied a person to the RCMP was a criminal offense, and the harshest punishments were dealt out to former RCMP members who attacked the US.
On the fateful day that the nuclear war started and ended, Winnipeg was spared the horrors of radiation and destruction. Premier Cooper, taking command of the city after the collapse of the American Army, called upon former RCMP members to retake their place as the police force to protect his new nation of Assiniboia.
As Assiniboia grew larger, the role of the newly rechristened Royal Assiniboian Mounted Police began that change as well. Four categories of officers were established: Dragoons, named after an old-world military unit, that are the best of the best and are the men that are the elite Special Forces of Assiniboia (usually with the rank Captain or higher); Members, comprised of the men that are everyday police officers, but also capable of serving with the military at a moment's notice as a highly trained reserve force and also serve as border patrols and many other policing duties; and Axillaries, who are civilians given the training of a RAMP officer but continue to live normal lives until they are called upon to help Members in their everyday activities or during wartime; and the Naval Service, RAMP officers who serve on the rivers and lakes of Assiniboia on boats specially designed to fight and protect those on the waterways of our nation.
After the War of 2077, the RAMP went back to its roots and began using horses on everyday duties for the first time since the 1930s, and after the last purebred horse died in 2084, their mutated cousins the Sleipnirs. While RCMP members had served with distinction in the First and Second World Wars on the frontlines, the modern RAMP was established as a combined police and paramilitary force, able to serve with the regular army in an instances notice. RAMP members are not only police officers, though that is their job first and foremost as they stand diligent duty in the many widespread detachments throughout Assiniboia, but they are also scouts, diplomats, the bodyguards of government officials, and the vaunted "Red Spear Point" of Assiniboian expansion.
They maintain the highest professional and ethical duty, and in the long, 141 year history of the RAMP, only six men have been unceremoniously discharged from duty: three due to corruption, one for trying to assassinate Prime Minister Jeremiah Calvert (who, to be honest, was a tyrant), one for a murder rampage that killed four innocent bystanders and one for stealing a chicken. This represents a 0.0004 failure rate!
Rest assured Assiniboia that you are protected from both common criminals, bandits, raiders and anyone that threatens the peace and security of our fair Dominion by the men and women in the Red Serge!