Past Tomorrow Country posts can all be found here.
Since Akaitcho is made out of rocks and water, it may be unsurprising to hear that the local economy rests on mining and maritime activity. The gold mines which birthed Yellowknife are a distant memory, but the arsenic waste they left behind employs hundreds of hardworking reclamation contractors, and the exploration geologists are still kept busy in other areas of the province. Meanwhile, the opening of the Northwest Passage has made the Mackenzie River reliably navigable at last, allowing sheltered Yellowknife Bay to host one of the country’s busiest container ports. Although its out-of-the-way geography keeps it less of an entrepôt than Inuvaluit and Deh Cho, a well-educated population makes the province attractive for higher-tech manufacturing.
The Outports
As the province is near-entirely urban, it’s also near-entirely maritime, with every single incorporated town lying on a navigable body of water. Besides historic Łutselkʼe, a number of brand-new settlements have been founded to exploit the valuable Great Slave fishery. Bayland and Little Harbour are the largest and oldest, having exceeded all growth projections by serving as magnets for homesick Atlantic Canadian refugees. Nahjo, a slightly more recent addition, was founded by the Akaitcho Dene Government as a neo-traditional community.
Although the foundation of Nahjo was originally seen as somewhat of a political provocation (non-Indigenous residents are not permitted to participate in the trust that furnishes no-cost housing for the town’s residents), the mostly-relocated residents of Little Harbour turned out to feel no particular kinship themselves with the provincial authorities, and the two neighbouring towns share a surprising amount of social cohesion. The area’s best-known contribution to Canadian culture has been the development of “Great Slave English”, a nigh-incomprehensible dialect in which a large body of Dene vocabulary words have somehow managed to weld themselves to a soft-spoken Atlantic lilt. Originally mocked as a bizarre distortion, the prominence of Great Slavers in the shipping industry means it is now well on its way to becoming the language of inland waterways everywhere.
The Slave River
It’s a long drive on bad roads to get all the way from Fort Smith to Yellowknife, but both communities are legally included in the Akaitcho Final Agreement, so the provincial boundary wraps around both. This needs justification because the boggy Slave River lowlands are entirely unlike the barren Shield landscapes that make up the rest of the province. Here the stunted twigs and lichens of the scoured highlands give way to a thick blanket of boreal forest, cleared in places to make room for Canada's most successful ranching operations. Most importantly, the Slave itself is the bountiful Peace Country's only outlet to the sea.
The recent trauma of the war has caused a lot of long-term planning. For many new engineering projects, “emergency survivability” is an essential part of the design codes. River infrastructure, viewed by the federal government as being especially difficult to disrupt during times of crisis, is a major benefactor. So most riverboats making the meandering all-water journey between Peace River and Yellowknife are doing it because of generous subsidies, and the nearby Port of Hay River's dominance as Great Slave's primary
railhead remains uncontested. Still, Fort Smith is no slouch, and a massive channel gouged across the nearby rapids has greatly improved navigation in the area.
The Barrens
Everyone knows the legend: Grande Prairie’s status as North America’s future industrial capital was all but assured when the bomb intended to demolish the city landed without detonating. But then what?
For six months, the bent fuselage of the rocket sat exactly where it fell (directly on top of the city’s swan statue). Once winter came, the wreckage was removed. Most people assume it was dismantled, but not a single Canadian engineer was willing to run the risk of opening the thing up while it sat in the middle of the country’s largest city. So it was relocated - along pavement, then gravel, then seasonal ice routes - before reaching its ultimate destination, the massive Ekati Diamond Mine pit, 400 kilometers away from downtown Yellowknife. There it sits to this day.
The G.P. dud, affectionately nicknamed “the Trumpeter” after the statue it flattened, is in fact the world’s best-preserved example of an early 21st-century superweapon. Although Canada has no interest in antagonizing the rest of the world by studying this prize too intently, the exact condition of its remains is the most intensely guarded of state secrets, and no civilians have been allowed inside the Ekati area for the last 50 years to clear things up any.
When not serving as a backdrop for apocalyptic intrigue, a variety of workaday hydroponic operations can be found scattered throughout the Akaitcho Barrens, benefiting from the nearby market presence of Yellowknife.