Chapter Twenty-Three
With Center behind them, Patrick and Colonel Granger continued to head south.
The problem was that Bismarck, the former capital of North Dakota, and where the plans for Project Pegasus might be, was to the south-east.
"Why do you want us going this way?" Patrick said. "We'd be almost to Bismarck by now."
Colonel Granger paused. "Well, we are actually really close to a Vault."
"A Vault? Which one?"
Granger hesitated for a moment, before he sighed. "Vault 53. I was told to go find it after making contact with Minot."
"I've heard of Vault 53," Patrick said. "Not much though. It was an American Vault, and the people that did talk about it had never been there themselves."
"Well, if we are lucky, we can get some supplies," Colonel Granger said. "One way or another, I'm sure we can."
So, for another day, they walked directly south. Patrick was glad that maybe, just maybe, the long walk would be over. All this walking reminded Patrick how much he relied on Demon and the trains to get around. His feet and legs ached, his backpack felt heavier than ever, he was tired, hungry and thirsty… If he never had to walk more than three feet on his own when this was over, he would be quite content.
"Just got to get to the Vault," he kept mumbling to himself, convincing himself to keep going. If it was anything like Vault H, then he might get a nice, temperature controlled place to sit, kick up his feet, and relax…
But something was nagging him. Something that he felt like he had forgotten to get. He had looked through the notes on his Pip-Boy, but hadn't found anything that would tell him what it was. It gnawed on him, like a radgopher chewing on his mind. It was something important…
Patrick asked Colonel Granger, who shrugged. "As far as I know, we're just going here, making contact with the survivors, and see if the Enclave can offer help to them."
"What do you mean survivors? Weren't the Vaults supposed to protect people?" Patrick asked.
Colonel Granger was about to say something, but didn't. It made Patrick a bit suspicious, but he decided not to push it. If they got to the Vault, and all was hunky-dory, then there wouldn't be a problem at all. Of course, if there was, then he might be able to get answers.
That was, if they could find the Vault.
"What do you mean you don't know where it is?" Patrick asked Colonel Granger, completely incredulous that he might have been sent out here for no reason, or at least with no idea where their target was.
"I was told possible coordinates, but not exact locations. Besides, it could be buried for all I know," Colonel Granger replied. "The Enclave leadership just loves showing off it knows stuff, but then doesn't actually tell you what it is!"
They walked a few more steps, coming up to a small hill, when Patrick stopped. "Well, why don't we ask the town over there?" he asked, pointing to collection of buildings, laid out in a grid like pattern, and made of a much better quality than just scavenged materials nailed together, which a lot of survivor communities always looked like. Large fields spread out in all directions all around the small town, with different colored fields of crops that Patrick couldn't quite recognize from there they were standing, but he did notice the apple trees all growing around the town. Here and there sun flashed on metal, and looking closer Patrick could see an entire workforce of Mister Handy robots tending and caring to the fields.
"Well, they seem to have it all together," Colonel Granger said. "I don't know if I've ever seen a town in Assiniboia that perfectly laid out.."
"Well, they should know where Vault 53 is," Patrick said, walking down the other side of the hill. "Let's go."
They didn't even get to the barbed wire fence strung up around the first field when three armed guards showed up, weapons drawn. They all had black uniforms and helmets with a plastic face cover that may have stopped a baseball from hitting the face, but most likely not a bullet or a knife. Metal and leather fashioned into shoulder pads, arm and leg guards may have provided a bit more protection, but Patrick questioned exactly how much protection it would have if he shot his .44 at them, much less his assault rifle.
"Halt!" they barked in unison, pointing laser pistols at Patrick and Colonel Granger.
Patrick and Colonel Granger, both of whom would have had more powerful weapons, and one of whom was in enough metal to protect him from a missile, stopped.
"State your business here," one of them demanded, his pistol pointed at Colonel Granger.
"Where exactly is here?" Patrick asked.
The guard glanced at Patrick. "Why should we tell you?"
"Well, we are trying to find Vault 53," Colonel Granger replied.
All three of them lifted their guns up and aimed it at the power armored man. "Vault 53 is strictly off limits."
"You are from the Vault?" Patrick asked.
"Why should it concern you?" The guard growled.
Colonel Granger and Patrick looked at each other. Patrick was quite confused and didn't know what to say. Colonel Granger had his helmet on, so it would be hard to tell what he was thinking.
Colonel Granger turned to them, and lifted the helmet off of his head. "Well, I'm from the Enclave, the remnant of the former United States, and I've been sent to check on the Vault project."
The guard that was doing the talking growled. "We don't need the old United States. What the hell have they done for us? We don't need anyone. Now get out!"
Patrick raised his hands. "Look, can we at least talk to the Overseer? This is important for a lot of people. A lot of very powerful, well armed people that laugh at laser pistols and gatling guns."
The talking guard seemed to hesitate before barking again. "Well… one moment."
He turned around, and got the radio attached to his soldier, and spoke into it, quietly enough that Patrick couldn't hear what he was talking about. After a moment, he turned around. "Very well, the Overseer will see you." he turned to Colonel Granger. "You can come in to, but you have to leave your Power Armor right here."
Colonel Granger nodded, and released the mechanism to open up his power armor. With the whir of servos and gears and the clicks of locks unlocking, the back side of the suit opened up, exposing Colonel Granger to the elements for the first time since… Patrick couldn't remember the last time he saw the Enclave soldier without the big suit of metal and electronics on. It was most likely before they left the Enclave Vault, if Patrick had to guess.
Colonel Granger stepped clear of the complex mechanical device he had been willingly imprisoned in, and walked around to Patrick. His legs wobbled a bit, and he maintained a wider stance, mostly likely due to how he had to ride in the power armor. The power armor closed up right behind, locking up tight.
"Can anyone else get into that?" Patrick asked.
"Nope. All suits of power armor are biometrically locked, so only I can access it," Colonel Granger said, his voice softer, which surprised and momentarily disoriented Patrick due to days of hearing the Colonel speak with the helmet on. "Won't have to worry about these yokels taking it."
The guards growled, but didn't raise their weapons, which relieved Patrick. He sure didn't want to explain to the Enclave why and how their top military leader died. If he got the chance. The guards reluctantly took Patrick and Colonel Granger past the fenced fields and orchards toward the town they saw earlier.
Patrick looked around, his farmers eye judging the crops all around him. "I've never seen plants like this," Patrick said, looking closer at something that looked like Manitograin, one of the radiation and weather resistant crops that was from the University of Manitoba. However, it being nearly June, the fact that it was barely sprouted in some places, and a miniscule green plant in others concerned Patrick.
"Wheat, barley, oats. We got it from the GECK," one of the guards said.
"Shut up!" The lead guard said. "Don't tell the outsider any of our secrets."
"Hey, I'm a farmer from up north. And, well, these crops don't look too healthy."
There was a long silence. The guards didn't say anything, and Patrick decided not to push them. But he noticed that the rows of vegetables in some fields, and fruit trees in others with apples, pears, and lemons all seemed smaller, thinner, and less healthy than anything Patrick had heard about, especially since there didn't seem to be anything resembling a Greenhouse like there was in Winnipeg.
They went past the last line of fences, and Patrick and Colonel Granger found themselves on a dirt road, with wooden, brick and adobe buildings on either side of the street. Most of the buildings looked well weathered, having stood up for decades under the harsh conditions of the wasteland for quite a long time. Men, women, and children all wore the blue and yellow jumpsuits with "53" on the back, though some had hats, glasses, leather armor, even jackets and suits. Most of the clothing, even the vault suits, seemed old, frayed, and patched together. A feeling of general dishevelment and tiredness, not to mention wear and tear, seemed to settle on everyone in the settlement.
They all noticed Patrick and Colonel Granger, outsiders in their midst. Soon a hundred eyes were focused on them, watching every move. Young children shied away and hid behind their parent's legs, while the pre-teens watched in fascination as these people without the Vault-Tec suit walked by, escorted by three of the town's guards. The adults were almost all hostile, glaring and angry at the intruders into their lives.
Patrick felt uncomfortable under all these eyes, and instead eventually decided to focus on looking at the ground. Maybe if he looked away, he wouldn't realize that everyone was watching him. But that wasn't as easy as it could have been, with all the nagging thoughts of what people would see in him, a dusty traveler from a far away land, and someone that has just arrived unannounced and very unwelcomed. He really did just want to leave, and never come back.
But he had a job to do. He took a deep breath, squared up his shoulders, and continued marching to wherever the guards were leading them
They were led to a long, low, one story white adobe building with a sign, fading and not touched up for decades, hanging over the door with "HARDINGVILLE COUNCIL BUILDING" in large letters. One of the guards opened and held the door open for Patrick and Colonel Granger to enter the building, and into a large chamber. Row upon row of chairs and benches were lined up, pointing toward an upraised stage, where a podium was set front and center.
Electric lights hung from the ceiling, but most were burnt out and hadn't been replaced, and instead candles or lanterns on the floor or hanging from the roof provided the only illumination in the building. Wooden boxes and papers were strewn everywhere, and several rusty metal crates with VAULT-TEC and its logo underneath of it were stacked along one wall, though in such a haphazard way Patrick was afraid of possibly standing under them.
The guards lead Patrick and Colonel Granger to a side door, and into a hallway that ran along the back of the hall, and then down to the end to another door.
"The Overseer is a busy person, so don't waste her time," the talkative guard warned, before opening the door.
Patrick and Colonel Granger both walked inside. Two of the guards followed inside, flanking the door on either side. Sitting behind a desk in one of the blue and yellow Vault 53 uniforms was an elderly lady, with curly grey hair and a weatherbeaten face and many wrinkles. A pair of glasses was perched on her nose, which she alternatively looked over and through as she typed away on the old terminal on her desk. The Pip-Boy on her wrist looked liked it had been turned off, which surprised Patrick, as he didn't think they ever could have been. She looked a lot like a librarian, a kindly grandmother figure.
"So you must be those outsiders," she said, glancing away from the screen for a moment. "The ones who want to go to Vault 53?"
"Yes ma'am," Patrick said. "Or, at the very least, if we can get some information."
"Call me Mrs. Kildaer," she said, finally looking away from the computer. "I didn't spend the past 29 years as the leader of this community to be addressed as 'ma'am.'" She laced that particular word with enough venom that Patrick thought he was poisoned just by hearing it. "Well if you got questions, ask them. I may answer you, if it won't endanger my people." She motioned them to sit on chairs in front of her desk.
"Okay, well what is town… Hardingville? I've never heard of it before."
"We are the descendents and former residents of Vault 53. Almost two generations now have lived here and not in that terrible hole in the ground. We built this town with the aid of a Garden of Eden Creation Kit, GECK, and have prospered ever since."
"You don't like the Vault?"
"It was atrocious!" Mrs. Killdaer exclaimed. "The construction was rushed and subpar, the machinery kept breaking down, and everyone was always tense, resigned to the fact things would keep breaking after decades of the machines doing just that, repairing walls that kept crumbling, and dealing with shortages in everything from food, clothing, to smaller creature comforts like toys and books. But little violence broke out except for the occasional fist fight, and under the leadership of the Overseers who served before me, especially my immediate predecessor, Kenny Harding, the residents of Vault 53 managed to work together and keep up spirits and persevere. The residents were able to keep it from totally failing, until something finally went wrong in the main reactor, and began to leak radiation. 100 years after our great-grandparents had been locked away in Vault 53, we came out, and Overseer Harding helped us build this town. When he died and I became Overseer, we only believed it proper to name the settlement he helped start after him."
Patrick nodded. "I have to say, the adversity you faced must have faced down there should have helped you when you came to the Wasteland."
"Oh yes. Everyone that came out of the Vault knew how to build and fix machines and buildings. I know I appreciate Vault-Tec for allowing my family to be invited to Vault 53 in 2077, but I wish they spent more time on making the Vault habitable. But we all survived, despite everything that happened. About the only thing that never failed was the water purifier."
Patrick smacked his forehead. "That's what I forgot!"
"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Kildaer asked.
"You wouldn't to happen to have a computer chip that controls a water purification system? A… vault up north needs one, and asked me to look for one." He wasn't going to bother saying it was Metigoshe, and maybe they would be willing to help another Vault.
"Hmm, I don't know. We pulled the water purification machine out of the Vault to help us, but I can look into seeing if we have an extra water chip." She scrawled something on a piece of paper. "The machinery works fine, of course, but those computer chips have a habit of breaking at the slightest opportunity." She looked up. "And what Vault is this?"
"Uh, Vault 13?" Patrick lied. "I think that's the number. Yeah, that's it. Vault 13." Mrs. Kildaer looked at Patrick, who gave a forced smile, but eventually she shrugged.
Colonel Granger cleared his throat, interrupting the conversation. "Overseer Kildaer, I've been asked by the Enclave, the Remnant of the United States Government, to offer any help needed for the American people, and restore the nation…"
She snorted. "The Enclave? Never heard of you. And why did you wait until now to suddenly show up? I don't know what your goals are, and I don't care. We've gotten along just fine without the old U. S. of A. And now you want to help us? I don't see any reason we should."
Patrick furrowed his eyebrows. "If you don't mind me saying, but it doesn't look like your crops are too healthy. Smaller, stunted, and not growing as well as they should."
Overseer Kildaer snapped her head over to Patrick. "And what makes you such a judge? This has, so far, been our most productive year yet!"
"I'm a farmer from Assiniboia, and…"
"Assiniboia," she snarled. "Another group of people claiming to 'just want to help.' Some traders came here twenty years ago, after we had built up this town from nothing, promised to set up trading routes with us. But after a couple trips, and some food and raw materials they brought here that was both of poor quality and woefully insufficient to what he asked for in return, they stopped showing up 18 years ago, right after we gave away valuable technology for them to take with us."
"That would have been when the Brotherhood of Steel declared war on Assiniboia," Patrick said. "That would explain why they caravans stopped coming."
"Oh, so the Brotherhood of Steel hates Assiniboia? Well good for them. At least they treated us with respect, damnit."
"Really? I'd have thought the Brotherhood would have demanded you turn over your technology or something."
"Oh, they were interested in us for technology when they first came here, about 2199, and asked to look at the Vault and the town, and offered to pay us for any technology they wished to take. But all we had was jury-rigged farming machines, a few cannibalized Mister Handy's, and a broken down Auto-Doc, and whatever irradiated scrap metal was in the Vault," Mrs. Kildaer explained. "They wanted to see if we had any guns or anything, but, except for those laser pistols and rifles, we had nothing they wanted. We do some trading, and at least they make sure the caravans run on time."
"So you're allied with the Brotherhood?" Patrick asked.
"We aren't allied with anyone. Hardingville can stand on it's own two legs. If there was anything that Vault 53 taught us, it was that we could only rely on people that we know and can trust. And no one here trusts anyone that doesn't wear a Vault suit."
She stood up, glaring at both Patrick and Colonel Granger. "So, since you clearly have nothing else to say, I suggest you leave immediately." She pointed to the door. "These gentlemen will take you back to the outskirts of town, and you can be on your merry way."
Patrick raised his hands. "Wait, Mrs. Kildaer. Is there anything that we, as outsiders, could do to help Hardingville? Just to show that you can trust us?"
Mrs. Kildaer was about to reply in the negative, when she stopped. "Well, actually we do have an issue."
Patrick sprung at the chance. "Whatever it is, we will help."
Mrs. Kildaer raised an eyebrow. "Well, okay. Brave of you." She sat back down behind her desk. "To the south-east, near the ruins of Bismarck, there is a… well, I really wouldn't dare call it a settlement. A smattering of undesirable neighbors. I would like you to go down there and exterminate them."
"Raiders?" Patrick asked, before scoffing. "That should be easy."
"Sure. Yes. They can be seen as raiders." She shook her head. "But deal with them. Kill them or tell them to go away, I don't care. Just do it."
She then noticed Patrick's Pip-Boy. "Where did you get that?"
"I got it from a former Vault dweller from Vault H near Winnipeg," Patrick replied.
"It would be a criminal offense here to give away a Pip-Boy, but you Assiniboians are really kooky anyway." She shrugged. "Here, I can give you a rough guess of where the settlement is." She tapped at her computer for a moment, before motioning Patrick over. She looked at his Pip-Boy, nearly twisting his arm all around, and reached for something at the back that Patrick didn't even knew he had. She pulled a white thing out of the side, attached to a long cable, and inserted it into a special dock on her computer. There was a few beeps and boops, before Patrick's screen changed from it's map to a symbol of the Vault Boy looking at his watch. "PLEASE WAIT, DOWNLOADING FROM TERMINAL."
After what felt like hours, a couple loud beeps, with the Vault Boy making it's familiar thumbs up sign, signalled that the download was completed.
"Sorry, the computers here are very slow," Mrs. Kildaer said. "We had to cannibalize every other computer in the Vault to have just one that works." She unattached the cable from her computer, and it retracted back into Patrick's Pip-Boy. "There, that should give you the coordinates. When you are done, come back here and tell me. I will see that you are rewarded." She curtly nodded, then went back to her computer, typing away at the keyboard.
"Alright, you heard the Overseer," one of the guards said. "Let's go."
Patrick and Colonel Granger were escorted back out of the town, with the silent, suspicious eyes that followed them to the council hall following them back and the Enclave soldier climbed back into his power armor.
"So that was pleasant, wasn't it?" Patrick said to Colonel Granger once they were out of earshot from the guards.
"Yeah," Colonel Granger said, but he was very quiet. The helmet he wore gave no indication as to what the reason was bothering him.
Patrick led the way, walking in the general southeast direction that the map indicated. They stopped at yet another abandoned farmhouse, opened up some pre war packaged food, and began to eat.
"So, did you get something else on your Pip Boy when you were given the map?" Colonel Granger asked, taking a bite from some Dandy Boy Apples. His helmet sat beside him, so once again Granger's voice felt odd, without the metal to muffle and distort it.
"What do you mean?" Patrick asked.
"Well, maybe the Enclave installed something on your Pip-Boy to download other files without your knowledge," Colonel Granger admitted. "That's why it took so long to download earlier."
"Oh," Patrick replied. "How did you do that?"
"The Secretary of Defense ordered it when you were in our Vault. They gave me the same thing for my Pip-Boy, but It's kind of hard to use it when you are wearing power armor, so we decided to install it on yours as well."
"Why?"
"We didn't want it to be suspicious if I kept fiddling around with a Pip-Boy. We felt we would use you. But don't worry, the Secretary said that any information you gather, you can keep, as long as we get a copy as well. That is one of the agreements the Enclave made with Assiniboia when we went up to Winnipeg."
"I wish you told me that sooner, you know."
"Well, I wasn't going to tell you when we were in Hardingville. And there was no need to tell you sooner."
Patrick shrugged. "Fine, whatever." He lifted up his Pip-Boy, and scrolled to the notes. "Well… there is a lot here." He selected a random file.
UNABLE TO READ: FILE CORRUPTED.
Patrick selected another one. Same thing.
"Damnit, the files are no good!" Patrick said.
"Well, they are using not just old computers, but parts of a bunch of different computers. Frankly, I'm not that surprised. But there should be something."
Patrick scrolled through the list. Most of the reports that did work went back to 2177 and earlier, about the time when they were back in the Vault, according to Mrs. Kildaer. Mostly internal emails, reports on equipment malfunctions, personal diaries, and lots of other things.
Patrick sighed, and just scrolled to the bottom of the list, through hundreds of files, until he reached the very first one. July 17, 2069.
"Wow, this is old," Patrick said, opening it up.
CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL CONFIDENTIAL
OVERSEER EYES ONLY
ORDERS TO OVERSEER OF VAULT 53
Vault 53 is designed to have the equipment for all major systems of the Vault to breakdown every few months, to stress the inhabitants unduly. It is Vault-Tec's hope that the breakdowns will be minor and easily repairable, but this is not a guarantee. There will be a limited number of backup machines, tools, and replacement parts in the cargo manifest of Vault 53. It is your duty as Overseer to monitor and report every month on the condition of the Vault: the equipment, the state of the Vault, and the inhabitants, and forward them to Vault-Tec. You are not to interfere with them from being repaired as the maintenance staff see fit. Should the inhabitants somehow manage to fix a machine so it no longer breaks down, you may undo this if it will compromise data collection. Check the appendix for instructions on how to re-enable the faulty parts of machines that are accidently fixed.
The constant breakdowns are supposed to be beyond your control, and any efforts to try to end the experiment before the authorized date will be grounds for immediate dismissal. You may use your judgement in other matters regarding the Vault, including the number of maintenance staff you may select to serve in the Vault. It is recommended to not allow below 10% or above 45% of the residents of the Vault to have more than rudimentary knowledge in repair of the machines. Inhabitants that have a particular natural fondness for mechanical repair tasks should not be assigned to maintenance tasks, as they may discover the flaws in the machines and rectify them, endangering the experiment. Assign them tasks in farming, security and other such roles to ensure they do not have the time, energy or learned abilities to fix the machinery.
Under no circumstances are you to allow the Vault Residents any knowledge as to the main purpose of the Vault. You are authorized to blame Vault-Tec in either the construction, supply, or procurement for Vault 53, and any public statements you make blaming Vault-Tec will not be taken into account of your performance review.
Vault 53 will be allowed to open 100 years after the door is shut. The mechanism to allow the Vault Door to open will not be able to be engaged from the inside until this time, unless you receive permission from Vault-Tec to open earlier. If the inhabitants do not wish to evacuate, the Vault's nuclear reactor will go supercritical and threaten to meltdown, and will force everyone to the surface.
Patrick blinked, staring at the screen on his wrist. "What… what does this even mean?"
Colonel Granger looked up. "Hmm?"
Patrick walked over and held his Pip-Boy up for Colonel Granger, who then quickly read over the file. "Oh. Yeah…"
"Okay, so what the hell is going on? The machines were designed to break down? What the hell? Is that you thought that maybe everyone would be dead?" Patrick glared at Colonel Granger. "Can I trust you or the Enclave if you won't even give me a little smidgen of information on knowledge that I should know to make sure I won't be walking to my death?"
"Look, listen, Patrick," Colonel Granger said, waving his hands to try to calm him down. "Vault-Tec built the Vaults for a reason. While, yes, they did say it was to save a portion of the population of the US, in reality they were experiments, designed to develop new technologies, test the human spirit, morales, and behavior when under certain conditions."
"You mean… what? Seriously?" Patrick's voice cracked.
"There are 122 of them all over this nation, and only a very few are 'control' Vaults, designed to work they were advertised. Almost every other Vault had some kind of experiment."
"But if these Vaults did conduct these experiments, where is all the information supposed to go?"
"That, I don't know." Colonel Granger admitted. "Frankly, I don't think anyone in the Enclave knows. There wasn't anyone that joined my ancestors in the Vault that was from Vault-Tec. I think they had their own Vault. My bet is somewhere in the Midwest, maybe in Texas. I don't know."
Patrick just stared at Colonel Granger. "How do I know you're not lying now? Or at least keeping something from me? You've done it ever since you left your hole in the ground."
"Secrecy is the lifeblood of a government, and the Enclave is no exception. Assiniboia is no exception, I'm 100% sure."
Patrick growled. "But at least I know what my country stands for, and a pretty good idea of why they do what they do. But the Enclave? As far as I know, you guys are waiting for the best moment to try to undermine and destroy Assiniboia. How can anyone out here trust you guys? I was giving you and the Enclave the benefit of the doubt, but the more I listen, the less I can trust you."
Patrick turned around, shutting off his Pip-Boy, before slipping into his sleeping bag, turning his back on Colonel Granger.
The Enclave officer sat there, staring at Patrick's back. He took a deep breath, replaced his helmet back onto his head, grabbed his Tesla gun, and began to stand watch, to ensure the both of them survived another day. It might not be enough to reassure Patrick, but it might be a start.
PipBoy InfoTracker Note #4872
Welcome to Vault 53!
Congratulations [INSERT NAME HERE]! You and your family have been chosen to Enter Vault 53, Vault-Tec's answer to any disaster or calamity that may befall our great nation!
The purpose of Vault 53 is two fold: to ensure the survival of it's 1,500 inhabitants, and to secure the knowledge of a tough and hardy population known for their agricultural background. You and your family have been chosen due to the long history your family has had in farming, knowledge that will be sure to come in handy in the possible but unlikely chance of a total nuclear annihilation.
While in the Vault, you will be helping to maintain America's dominance in food production for the future. While most other vaults have automated food production facilities and robot controlled hydroponic farms for all their food needs, Vault 53 will use good old-fashioned farming techniques in large enclosed rooms to ensure the knowledge isn't lost. A variety of seeds, plants and livestock will be available for your use while in the Vault. But should something go wrong, don't worry: emergency food rations will be available. We recommend not using them unless needed however!
Thank you for your interest in being Prepared for the Future!™