The Biomass Revolution (The Tisaian Chronicles) (14 page)

A crescent moon broke through the cloud of smoke covering Lunia like a blanket. It was shortly after midnight, and the CRK and SGS disaster teams were still digging through the rubble above Trolley Station #14.

The TDU had fallen short of their goal of destroying the CRK headquarters, but the damage to Tisaia’s infrastructure
was catastrophic.

Spurious and Ing watched the recovery effort from the middle of a massive crowd
. Everyone was waiting to hear about their lost loved ones.

“
How did it come to this?” Spurious asked, shielding his face from the heat of the raging fire. “It seemed like Paulo was beginning to come out of his depression, and now this. There is nothing left of him. Nothing left to bury.”

“I shouldn’t have been so hard on him lately,” Ing finally replied.

“You couldn’t have known this would happen.”

Ing scowled. “It
doesn’t matter now. The TDU will pay for this.”

Spurious thought
again of Leo, and what the old man had told him only days before. Had his parents really been a part of the group that killed his friend and destroyed the lives of so many innocent civilians?

He watched
the faceless Knights digging through the rubble. Were they the enemy, or were the rebels the ones he should blame?  

A gust of scorching wind
shook the confusing notions from his head and he stared back into the orange flames. “I hope you find peace, Paulo,” Spurious said, patting Ing on his shoulder. They walked out of the crowd and began their trip back to the Commons area.

“I had to see it for myself,” Spurious
said.

“The TDU is going to pay for this,” Ing responded.

Spurious stopped, resting his back on the cold metal of a light pole. He looked at his friend.

“Ing, there
’s a lot we do not know about this conflict. The CRK has murdered a lot of innocent civilians as well. And I…” Spurious paused to pick his words carefully. “Well, I just don’t know what to think anymore,” Spurious whispered, his gaze dropping to the cobblestone street.

“What are you saying
, Spurious? The TDU just murdered our best friend, and you’re questioning who is right in this situation?”

“I’m not questioning who is right,” Spurious interrupted
, his voice growing louder. “I’m questioning the point of all of this. The laws, the mechanical work, the power of the State, and why we don’t share the Biomass with other States that still exist.”

“You
’re questioning the very nature of Tisaia, then. That’s treason, and you could be hung! You’re lucky I’m your friend, Spurious. If I wasn’t, you’d have some questions to answer,” Ing finished calmly.

“You
’re right, I’m lucky you’re my friend. Let’s not speak of this any longer. Let’s instead remember our friend Paulo. Tonight, we’ll celebrate his life and forget the troubling times we live in.”

Ing shot Spurious a defensive g
lance, and after a few moments of silence he nodded. “You’re right, tonight we drink to Paulo,” Ing said.

Time
: 1:30 a.m. January 31, 2071

Location
: The Ale House. Lunia, Tisaia

The Ale House was packed full of sweaty patrons, and the ale was flowing freely. Spurious figured most of the State employees knew the danger of the TDU attack was over, and most of them who weren’t immediately affected by the bombing were drinking to celebrate life. Others were like Spurious and Ing, celebrating the life of lost loved ones.

That was the
traditional Tisaian way, celebrating the life of those who died. There was so much death and this was the only way Tisaians knew how to grieve.

Spurious had always thought it ironic,
considering how cheap the value of life could be at times.

“Things just don’t feel the same,” Spurious
said, sipping his ale.

“I
don’t think they will be the same for a long time,” Ing responded. “I wish I had treated Paulo better the last few times I had seen him. I was always arguing with him.”

“He loved you like a son, Ing,” Spurious
said, reassuringly.

A tear crawled down Ing
’s face as he took another swig of ale. “It’s going to take some time before things get back to normal.”

“Yeah
you’re right about that. I never told you this, Ing, but my parents were killed in the beginning of the Biomass Revolution. I have never really gotten over it. One day I went to school, and when I came home, they just weren’t there anymore. I was shipped off to another school shortly after. To this day, I still feel like a piece of me is gone, but after a while you get used to the loss, and the feeling you’ll never be whole again.”

Ing looked across the booth, his mouth quivering, but silent. Recognizing the anguish in his friend
’s features, Spurious reached across the table, patting Ing’s hand.

“
It’s all right, life is difficult. We just have to look after each other now,” Spurious said.

“Yo
u’re the only friend I have now,” Ing replied solemnly.

Spurious looked up to see his friend looking back at him. “
Besides Lana, you’re the only friend I have, too.”

“Lana? What do you mean
, you have Lana? She belongs to Varius. Spurious, you know that. What do you mean, she’s all you have, other than me?”

Spurious slouched in his seat, realizing he had never told Ing about Lana. In fact, he had never told anyone about Lana.
What a perfect time to tell Ing about this,
Spurious thought, frustrated.

“Ing, I
’ve been meaning to tell you. I really have. I just didn’t ever know how to tell you that Lana and I have fallen for one another.”

Ing gasped. “You
’ve got to be kidding me, Spurious. First, you’re questioning your loyalty to Tisaia, in
public
. And now you’re in love with the assistant to our
supervisor
? What’s gotten into you?”

Spurious brought his finger to his lips. “Calm down. D
on’t draw any attention to us. You know there could be an undercover CRK agent anywhere in here right now.”

“Spurious. I just don’t get it. You have the perfect life, a great job, a great flat.
We have fun when we go out. You know you could find a wife through the regular process. Why do you have to put yourself in jeopardy?”

“The regular process? Ing, does that not seem a little odd to you? Do you really want the State telling you what you can eat, who you can marry and where you can travel? I mean, come on, when did you become so complacent
? I don’t want to go fill out an application at the Sector for Love and Compassion and roll the dice, hoping they find me someone I’m compatible with. Lana is perfect for me. And we’ve been able to keep it a secret this far. I don’t want to go through the regular process with her. What if the State finds we’re not compatible, and decides we shouldn’t be together? Then what do I do? I love her!”

Ing
rolled his eyes, and took a long swig of his ale. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just know if Varius finds out, you’re ruined. You’ll lose your job, and he will probably push the Council’s Office to prosecute you for crimes of passion.”

“I have
already thought of this, and to be honest, I don’t care.”

“Well
, it seems like tonight you don’t care about much at all, do you, Spurious?”

Spurious looked down at the table, using his sleeve to wipe it clean of ale. He thought again of what Leo told him only days before.

You have the ability to shape the future of Tisaia
.
Out of all people, how do I fight against a State that is so powerful, so ruthless? And through all of this, how do I keep Lana?

“Snap out of it
, Spurious. I think we need to get out of here,” Ing said, nodding to alert him to two Royal Knights in full armor walking towards them. Spurious looked quickly over his shoulder and watched the Knights push their way through the crowded bar.

Ing and Spurious
remained still; their eyes aimed at the table, hoping to evade any unnecessary attention.

“Do you think they
’re really looking for us, Spurious?”

“Why the hell would they be looking for us, unless someone overheard us talking
?”

“I really didn’t think we were being loud,” Ing shot back nervously.

“Well, what should we do?” Spurious asked.

“If
they’re here for us, they will catch us eventually. We better just stay put.”

The two Royal Knights continued to push their way through the crowd, combing through patrons with their assault rifles. Their
blue goggles glowed in the dark tavern, reminding Spurious of two large black owls descending on prey. With every beat of bass the Royal Knights moved closer to Spurious and Ing’s table. He could feel his heart beating in his chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.

The bas
s pounded louder as the Knights approached their table. Out of the corner of his eye Spurious watched the ghostly blue radiating out of their goggles. He swallowed and felt his heart tighten in his chest. He was sure now they were coming for him. He didn’t dare look up as the Knights moved closer.

Maybe he could outrun them, but what then? Where would he go? If they wanted him, they would find him. Ing was right. Spurious remained sitting and waited for the Knights to take him away. And just when they were almost on him
, he saw them grab a straggly-looking man and drag him out of the tavern.

“No! I didn’t do a
nything wrong!” he screamed.

“You’re coming with us,” one of the Knights
said, picking the man up by the back of his shirt and tossing him through the open door and into the dark night. 

Spurious took a deep breath of relief, his chest heaving in and out.
“Holy shit, that was close. I think it’s time to go home and get some rest,” he said, his heart finally returning to a normal pace.

“Damn, I really thought they were coming for us.” Ing
said, his hand visibly shaking as he took another long swig of ale. He wiped the liquid off his mouth and stared across the table at his friend, a serious look painted on his semi-intoxicated face. “You better watch your back, especially with Lana. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you too, Spurious. Losing Paulo is enough. Please promise me you won’t see her again.”

Spurious took one last swig from his mug. “I’m sorry
, Ing, All I can promise you is that I’ll be careful.”

Ing
rolled his eyes, pushing his chair back under the table. “You know your secret is safe with me,” he said, as he left to pay his tab.

Spurious watched his friend leave with a raised brow. “I sure hope so.”

Chapter 5:
Spartans

“Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.”

~
Confucius

Time
: 2:31 a.m. January 31, 2071

Location
: Office of the Royal Knight    Commander. Lunia, Tisaia

It was two in the morning and the Commanding Royal Knight of Tisaia, Alexander Augustus, paced back and forth nervously in his quarters. His left hand grasped a half smoked cigar that bled a trail of smoke up into his nostrils. Two drops of sweat crept down the Knight’s forehead, finding their way into a scar that left a deep ravine down his left cheek. At the age of 45, the Knight had his fair share of scars. It was one reason he had gained his rank so quickly. Historically the Commanding Royal Knights were picked for their distinguished military role in Tisaia. There were only two before him, both assassinated before their second year of service. Augustus had already served two terms and was entering his third. He had survived two assassination attempts and knew the next one was probably imminent.

Four of
his staff members sat around the marble war table in the center of his office. He watched his most trusted confidante, Chief of Staff Simmon, discussing recent events with his subordinates.

The
candle light flickered in the dark room, illuminating the murals painted across the ceiling. The scene depicted the ancient battle of Thermopylae in 480BC, where the small and vastly outnumbered Spartan armies of Greece prevented the Persian army from following the main Greek army in their retreat. The mural was created at the beginning of his first term. After long work days he was known to lock the monstrous oak doors to his office, pour a glass of whiskey and study the mural from the comfort of his plush leather chair.

“Sir, with respect, I think
we have enough information to shut down the trolley stations indefinitely. It appears this was not an isolated attack and our intelligence sources indicate there may be other impending attacks. I think the rebels have the capability of launching another attack on this scale again, at any time,” Staffer Marcus Mcaina argued.

Simmon did not respond
. Instead his ocean blue eyes remained fixated on the holographic data streaming from a projector in the middle of the marble table. He studied the data, requesting the AI to move on after he had read one entry in its entirety. Behind him the Commander continued to pace back and forth in front of the fireplace that extended from the south wall of the room. As the sound of the minute hand on the grandfather clock clicked away, Simmon continued to read, analyzing the situation through every avenue he could think of. The uneasiness in the room faded away until the crack of a burning log in the fireplace brought Simmon to his feet.

“Commander
, I’d like to issue my opinion,” Simmon said, propping his sword against his chair out of respect. Augustus raised his brow, and moved his solid stone jaw in approval.

“Staffer Mcaina seems to think we should yield to the terrorist rebels
. In fact, he would have you believe we should completely shut down our underground trolley stations. He claims this small group of radicals has the capability to launch similar attacks at any given time. And while our intelligence has given us adequate information to assume this to be true, I’d argue we meet this threat head on. Let us staff the trolley stations with more soldiers and launch an offensive into the heart of these rebels. We shall take this fight underground and crush this rebellion once and for all. The safety of Tisaia and her citizens depends on a victory, not to mention the financial well-being of our already fragile economy. If we shut down the trolley stations, our State workers will have to find new forms of transportation to work, which may place delays in all government departments,” the Chief of Staff said.

Simmon was
a man of few words. His motto was,
least said, easiest mended
, but there was never a time when he was afraid to voice his opinion. After analyzing the data, he came to what he thought was a reasonable solution and sold it to his commander. In fact, he was usually Augustus’ voice of reason. It wasn’t uncommon for Mcaina and Simmon to argue, but in situations with the TDU, Simmon’s position had always allowed him to gain the upper hand.

For a few moments the entire room
remained silent. The tick of the grandfather clock and occasional crack of the fire were the only source of noise in the uncomfortably quiet room. Every one of the staffers at the war table knew the stakes projected in front of them. If they did not act against the rebels, Tisaia’s fate might not be much different from the rest of the world’s. 

As the hour hand of the grandfather clock struck midnight Augustus took one last drag of his
cigar, savoring the smoke before he exhaled it into the air. He rose from his chair and placed both of his large and rough hands on the table.

“Gentlemen,
I have made my final decision.” He paused to watch his silent staffers. There was something about making his subordinates wait for his decision that was so gratifying.

“I ha
ve decided that we’ll reopen and reverse Project 1200,” he said, pausing to gauge their reaction.

Mcaina and Simmon
immediately fidgeted in their chairs while another staffer reached for his tie, attempting to loosen it. Everyone around the table knew Project 1200 referenced the underground tunnels below Tisaia. They all remembered the horrors committed there by the Tisaian National Army before it was disbanded at the end of the war and replaced with the Council of Royal Knights. It was at the height of the Biomass Wars, when the survivors of the holocaust had gone underground to survive. There were entire cities of survivors underneath the surface of Tisaia, seeking refuge from the radiation poisoning above. And there wasn’t enough food or shelter for all of them. So the young Tisaian government had simply closed off access to some of the tunnels, leaving the survivors on the other side to fend for themselves. Most of them starved to death, while others were said to have left to take their chances in the Wasteland. Reversing Project 1200 meant reopening the tombs of the past, something unthinkable until now. 

“
I’m authorizing this project to reopen under strict guidelines. The project shall be overseen primarily by the Special Forces group, the Dark Horses. They will be deployed as a hunter killer unit, sent out to explore the tunnels closed off for years. This is where we believe the TDU to be hiding. Only a handful of CRK officers will know about this project and it shall be conducted with the utmost secrecy. As for Simmon’s recommendations, I have decided we shall divert half of the available reserve CRK forces to be posted in all public facilities. Furthermore, the trolley stations shall be staffed with our finest officers. Lastly, I’m going to recommend we increase our offensive against the rebels. I want their leader caught, and their headquarters discovered within two weeks. With the reopening of these tunnels that should be more than enough time, don’t you think?” He turned his back to his staff to face the heat of the burning fire.

Simmon nodded in approval, savoring the small victory he had gained over Mcaina. The Dark Horses were the best Knights they had, but Simmon wasn’t sure if even they had the stomach for what they would find. He could only imagine the horrors and utter terror those on the other side experienced when they were closed.

As the staffers filed quietly out his door
, Augustus turned once again to view the mural of the Battle of Thermopylae. An uncharacteristic sense of fear washed over him as he thought of the battle that lay ahead. He always compared his men to the Spartans. Their fierce loyalty, bravery, and skills as warriors defined the CRK, just like it had the Spartans. And for a second he questioned how history would remember his men. Would they compare them to the Spartans or the Persians? The thought disappeared quicker than the sparks crackling inside his fireplace. It was a shameful reflection to have, especially for the Commander of the CRK, and it only strengthened his resolve to crush the TDU.

He smiled, watching the fire consume the logs, knowing that history would remember him and his men as modern day Spartans after they destroyed the TDU.

***

Commander Augustus lay in
his oversized bed, counting the small clouds of smoke trailing out of his burning cigarette. He looked to the empty pillow next to him, only to be reminded that his wife was no longer alive, the victim of a bullet meant for him. He rested his head back down on his pillow, thoughts of the past racing through his mind. Quickly, the memories brought back the familiar pain only cured by a heavy dose of whiskey.   

The early morning hours were always the worst
, as he began to mentally prepare himself for the day before him. In the years following the Biomass Wars, when the world went to shit, Augustus was just a young man. His father and brother were both in the United States Army before it crumbled with the rest of the government. Augustus and his family were a few of the fortunate survivors. They scratched out a living in the tunnels below what had once been the great city of Chicago, now nothing more than ruins in the distance.

He had risen to the top
of the CRK through the fire and destitution many of his colleagues also faced. These hardships helped the survivors create a strong Tisaia, one he would do anything for. He would stop at nothing in his quest to rid Tisaia of the TDU terrorist threat. Politics meant little to him. The discussion of Bill 12b was nothing more than a side note on his desk. He never questioned Governor Felix’s orders. It wasn’t his job. His job was to protect Tisaia from her many enemies.

He blew another cloud of smoke into the air, forgetti
ng his troubles. A clock in his sparsely furnished bedroom rang, indicating it was 6:00 am, and the day had officially begun.
Today everything is going to change,
he thought, smearing the butt of his cigarette on a glass ashtray beside his bed. The embers cooled and suffocated, dying in their glass grave.

Time
: 8:46 a.m. January 31, 2071

Location
: Council of Royal Knights Headquarters. Lunia, Tisaia

The auditorium was warm, so warm that the select group known as the Dark Horses had removed their helmets as they sat waiting for their new assignment. Many of them had heard the rumors already—Project 1200 was being reopened, but most of the Knights didn't believe it could be true. After all, a Knight was not selected and assigned to the Dark Horses by believing rumors or participating in gossip. The Dark Horses were the most honorable and skilled group of Knights in the CRK. They went through years of testing and training to get where they were, and not a single one of them dared jeopardize it in anyway. They knew the drill: sit and wait, listen to the orders, and execute them flawlessly. It was all just part of the job.

In the center of the room a blue hologram
shot out of a small opening in the marble table, illuminating the CRK’s main auditorium as the lights dimmed in the room. Supreme Royal Knight Morr stood at the side of the table, tapping his helmet, which he had removed to examine the blueprints.

“
Listen up, men. We have intelligence indicating the rebels are hiding out somewhere on the western border of Lunia, shortly outside these walls,” he said, pointing to several locations on the blueprints. “Jeriche, I need my glasses,” Morr shouted impatiently. His assistant rose from the first row and quickly made his way to the center of the auditorium to hand Morr his glasses. “Thanks,” he said, briefly acknowledging the short man’s presence.

Jeriche walked back to his seat, waiting for Morr to give him another command. For the past four years he served with a staunch resolut
ion, completing every task asked of him. He could only hope his commander would reward him for his unwavering loyalty someday.

Back at the table Morr slipped on his glasses and focused on the blueprints, the blue glow
of the holograms illuminating his meticulously kept armor. He stood for several minutes, thumbing through the images, before bringing his fist down on the table in anger.

“
Can someone explain why the hell we can’t get a current map of these locations?” he screamed. The Knight scanned the dim room, but the Dark Horses stared back at their leader blankly.

“
Well! Which one of you is responsible for these blueprints?” he demanded, anger growing in his voice.

Finally
, after minutes of silence, an engineer assigned to the squad rose from his seat.

“Sir, with respect, the Sector of Governmental Services is supposed to be surveying all tunnels and storm drains below Tisaia. However, those tunnels aren't mapped because," the engineer paused and glanced nervously at his feet. "Those tunnels were
part of Project 1200 and were closed off years ago," he finished nervously.

Morr paused to take his glasses off so his naked eyes could fall on his men with no impediments. He needed to gauge their reactions. It was a part of what made him one of the best
: being able to read his soldiers, to see how far he could push them before they would break. It was a skill all great commanders in the history of warfare perfected. And it won wars.