The Biomass Revolution (The Tisaian Chronicles) (23 page)

“
We’re just looking for a place to rest and then we’ll be on our way.”

Ran caught Nordica staring at him and shaking h
er head.

Silence crept across the compound
. Ran knew if Nordica had the chance, she would take the straggler out. With all the killing in the past week, Ran didn’t want to see anyone else die.

“Can we rest here for the night?
We have some food and supplies we can trade with you.”

Ran stood completely still, his arms burning from holding his rifle pointed at the roof top. “See,
I’m dropping my weapon. And my friends will too,” he said, as he slowly knelt and placed his rifle at his feet. He turned and motioned Tsui to as well.

Ran
waited, his eyes darting back from Nordica to the roof.
Well, this is it,
he thought silently, desperately wishing he could tell his arrogant friend how much he actually cared about her.

“
Stay where you are. I’m coming out,” the voice shouted back again.

Ran took a deep breath and motioned Nordica over to him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nordica asked.

“I think
we’ve stumbled across a straggler, not a trap set by the Tin Cans. If they were here, we would already be dead.”

“Where are the others
, then?” Nordica snarled back.

Ran frowned. “I think
we’re it.”

For a split second
, Ran caught a glimpse of sadness in Nordica’s demeanor. It was a rare moment and was interrupted as the front door to the building swung open.

The two soldiers turned to watch an older man walk out into the wind
, shielding his eyes from the dust and ash. He wore a tattered old flannel shirt tucked into a pair of denim jeans. It was something neither of them had seen in years. He gripped a shotgun in his right hand, with the barrel pointing at the ground. His face was thinly bearded, with specks of white hair clinging to his wind burnt cheeks. He wore a green cap with an image of a yellow tractor.

“
I’m sorry; I don’t get many visitors out here. In fact, I haven’t gotten any in about a year now.”

Nordica
and Ran looked at one another, realizing what they had feared was true. They were all that was left of the TDU.

The man
propped his shotgun against the concrete wall of the building. “I’m the only one here,” he responded. “Looks like you three will be the first visitors to join me for a meal, in...” the man paused. “Well, in about four years.  Since my wife died,” he said, looking down at the dirt.

“
Four visitors,” Juliana yelled, approaching the building with her hands in the air. Nordica and Ran turned, while the man picked up his shotgun again.

“It’s
okay, sir, she’s with us,” Nordica said calmly.

The man lowered his weapon and approached
his new guests, offering his hand to Nordica, who was closest.

“
The name’s John,” he said, shaking each of their hands one by one.

“
Like I said, it’s been a few years since I saw anyone out here. In fact, the last person I saw I had to shoot because he tried to steal my stash of food. Y’all aren’t going to try and steal my food, are you?” he asked, raising his brow suspiciously.

Juliana looked at the man
. “No sir, we’re not here to steal your food.”

The man chuckled, dropping his expression. “I’m just
messing with you.”

The four TDU soldiers looked at one another quizzically.
They weren’t sure whether to laugh or turn and run.

“Yeah I
used to get that reaction a lot. I changed my name to my grandfather’s once I moved out here. I haven’t known anyone named John for a long time, so I thought it would be a good change.”

Ran laughed
. “I knew a John a long time ago. He was deported because the Justice Committee thought he was an immigrant.”

“Well, I suppose I should invite you in for dinner,” John said, motioning his guests towards the door.

The four soldiers followed him cautiously into the building.
The inside was a single dwelling with two beds against the north wall, a kitchen table against the east wall, and a couch in the center of the room. There was also a bathroom and supply pantry, both in horrid shape, but nonetheless appearing to be in working order.

Nordica followed the others in
to the house, resting her bag on the worn carpet. In the corner of the room she saw a door slightly ajar, hidden by darkness. She assumed it was one of two entrances to the silo, but decided to find out more information later, after John had gained their trust.

***

Dinner was a large plate of spaghetti and canned spam rolled up into meatballs. A bright candle burned in the middle of the wooden table, illuminating the home cooked meal in front of them.

“I raided the best of my supplies to make this meal. I hope y’all like it,” John
said with a grin. He didn’t hesitate before attacking his food with a fork, shoveling it into his mouth.

Juliana smiled in pleasure
after her first bite. “Wow. You’re almost as good as cook as the one we used to have at our headquarters.”

“I don’t know about that,
but these meatballs are better than I’ve had in a long time,” Nordica chimed in.

“Yeah, I think
you’re right,” Ran said, plopping another meatball into his mouth.

“
Thanks. It’s been...” John paused and looked down at his plate. “It’s been awhile since I cooked for anyone.  So I was worried how this meal would turn out.” He shook his head, changing the subject. “So I don’t mean to pry into your business, but what happened to your headquarters?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ran looked up from his meatball before plopping it in to his mouth. He
figured if John invited them in for dinner he wouldn’t be that upset when he found out his home was a rendezvous point for a rebel group in the middle of a war.

“
It was discovered and destroyed. We barely escaped,” Ran replied. “I’m sure you’re aware of the wall surrounding Tisaia not twenty miles from here.”

John nodded.

“We’re in the middle of a war with the State, and last week the Council of Royal Knights destroyed our headquarters and killed most of our friends.”

John dropped his
fork onto his plate and brought a handkerchief to his mouth, wiping spaghetti sauce from his white beard.

“
You all are fighting the CRK?”

“Yeah
, so you have heard of it?” Nordica asked.

“Of course I have, I moved out here to escape Tisaia fifteen years ago when things started to change radically.”

“
Holy shit, we got lucky meeting you. We were ordered to rendezvous at the Silo,” Ran added.

John wiped his lips once again with the handkerchief.

“Silo?” he asked.

“Tsui, why don’t you fill John in on what
we’re talking about?”

Tsui nodded, placing his fork and spoon down softly on the table. The massive Asian man scooted his chair back from the table so he could cross his legs.

“Our intelligence said that in the year 1965, the United States Army built a nuclear missile silo under this building. The silo was decommissioned in the early 1990s, when the Cold War with the Soviet Union ended. The United States put the silo up for sale to private citizens, but it never sold, and according to our records, it has remained idle ever since.”

“One of our recon teams came across this location a few years back,” Nordica
said.

“
This place was idle. Idle until I got here,” John said, laughing. “Hell, I had no idea there was a silo under here. Which brings me to my next question, where is the damn entrance?”

“You mean there isn’t an entrance in this building
?” Ran asked politely.

“If there was an entrance don’t you think
I’d know about it?” John shot back, somewhat annoyed with Ran’s question.

“I suppose you
’re right. I’m sorry,” Ran replied.

“
After you’re all done, I suggest we get some shuteye. In the morning we can start combing the area for some sort of an entrance,” John said, sipping ale from an old wooden glass.

Time
: 7:08 p.m. February 22, 2071.

Location
: Rira’s Pub. Rohania, Tisaia

The most successful establishments in Rohania were bars. Most Rohanians made very little money, scraping together a living by bartering and selling what they could. At night the pubs collected most of the credits earned by these hardworking people during the day.    

Nathar and
Creo sat in a dimly lit booth in the back of Rira’s Pub. It was an irritatingly loud joint, and made up for the solitude the two soldiers had grown accustomed to the past couple days.

Picking
the pub was an easy decision. Not only was the owner a long time sympathizer of the TDU, he also had several exits in the back.

The two sat comfortably in their newly purchased pea coats hoping they would blend in with the crowd, watching patrons come and go; some drunk
were, others were nearing the point.

Rira was a small man in his late 50’s with a booming voice. Those that knew him never double crossed him. He was one of the most honest black market dealers in Rohania, honest as black market dealers came. And he expected his clients to show him the same courtesy. When they skipped a payment or failed to hold up their side of a bargain
, he would send his henchman, Lupai, after them. 

When Lupai wasn’t breaking people’s kneecaps for Rira
, he was selling small arms to anyone with the credits to buy them. The TDU had used him for years and he had shown fierce loyalty to Obi, which is why Creo trusted him.

Tonight
Creo wasn’t going to be discussing weapons—tonight his mission was to procure soldiers. And something inside him told him Lupai was the right man for the job.

A thick
layer of smoke hovered over the bar, prompting a deep cough from Nathar. He pretended not to care, but Creo knew the man better. It wasn’t often the young soldier voiced his opinion, but one of the things he hated most were watering holes just like Rira’s and the filth that patronized them.

Creo
understood. His friend had asthma and smoke inflamed his lungs and he was still recovering from a bad cold he had developed.

The Spaniard
did not, however, share Nathar’s hatred of bars. He was used to the people and enjoyed the potent, thick smell of cigarette smoke. He grew up in places just like Rira’s, and felt a strange sense of nostalgia while waiting for the arms dealer.

It was a half-hour before Lupai entered the building
, with two equally large men who appeared to be bodyguards. Their eyes gave them away, darting from booth to booth, scanning the shadows for danger.

At first glance
Lupai looked like any other Rohanian resident. His facial hair was thick and his mop of dark brown hair hung down to his shoulders. He wore a thick pea coat and pair of worn trousers. What set him aside from the average citizen wasn’t his appearance, it was his wit and charm.

Most Rohanians never received a diploma
, and those who didn’t drop out of school to work by the age of 14 didn’t receive much of an education. The schools were old and, like everything else in Rohania, in severe need of routine and major maintenance. They were understaffed and most of the curriculum was developed by the teachers. If a teacher wanted to spend the day talking about the last time they got drunk, there was nothing to stop them.

Creo
recalled hearing that Lupai received a formal education in Lunia. His wit, combined with his rough appearance, allowed him to evade the Knights, who had hunted him for years.

Creo
and Nathar scooted over in their booth, making room for Lupai and his bodyguards. They approached slyly, eyeing the two TDU soldiers through their sunglasses.

Lupai brushed his long brown hair out of his face and sat down across from Creo and Nathar, cracking a grin full of pearly white teeth. He nodded at his two guards and they disappeared into the dark smoke of the pub, hiding in the corners and waiting to be beckoned again.

“
So, I hear you two have had a tough week,” he said, smirking and pulling a half-spent pack of cigarettes from the bowels of his trench coat. “The Tin Cans finally caught up to you?”

“It was only a matter of time,”
Creo responded.

Lupai
paused, scratching a match against the wood table and lighting his cigarette. He took a deep drag and exhaled the smoke into the air, watching it disappear in the cloud above their booth.