The Biomass Revolution ttc-1

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  Time: 8:09 a.m. February 25, 2071.

  Location: Nuke Valley. The Wastelands

  Ajax took a deep breath, watching the cloud of air disappear into the slight wind. He was on point, about a mile ahead of the others to scout. Obi had split the squad up, sending Ran and Nordica to scout the western side of the rock configuration. Tsui and Juliana had stayed at the silo to wait for any other TDU members who were late to the rendezvous, while Obi, Spurious, Creo, Nathar, and the new recruits had fallen back, waiting for word to proceed.

  Ajax knelt on top of a worn rock overlooking a small valley, the great walls of Tisaia vaguely visible in the distance. He removed his goggles and wiped a trickle of sweat from his forehead before squinting in the sun. They had reached the border between the rock formations and a crater known as Nuke Valley.

  He squinted again to make out the crater in the center of the valley, where decades ago a bomb had blown a depression hundreds of feet deep and thousands of feet wide. The basin around the crater was weathered by years of wind storms. With zero cover and pockets of radiation, Nuke Valley was one of the most dangerous places to cross the Wastelands.

  He had made the journey across the crater once, losing a CRK patrol in the cover of night, but it had cost him. Ajax grimaced, recalling the week he spent in the med ward with radiation poisoning, puking his guts out. But the internal damage was nothing compared to the suffering his skin went through. His arms were still covered in scars where boils had plastered his poisoned skin.

  Beyond the crater he could make out the skeletons of buildings, dozens of them. All that remained was their metal guts jutting out of the cracked red dirt. He remembered listening to Obi tell stories of the day the bombs fell. Obi had been there, in Chicago, the once beautiful city spanning miles and miles of what were now Wastelands.

  Ajax pulled his goggles back over his eyes and covered his face with a black bandana. Obi’s instructions were simple: find a safe route through Nuke Valley.

  Since Ajax was the only member of the TDU who survived a trip through the crater, the choice was easy—Obi picked him to lead the way.

  The rest of the squad showed up minutes later, the new recruits panting through their dust masks. Obi twisted the cap off his canteen and handed it to the youngest of the men, watching the water drip slowly down his chin. The recruit looked familiar, his frightened brown eyes peering back at him helplessly. It made Obi want to protect him the same way he protected the rest of his squad, but he knew the boy had little chance of survival. Like so many thrown into Squad 19 before him, the life expectancy for the “fillers” was not long and he doubted the boy would last the week.

  “What do you think, Ajax?” Obi asked, turning his attention to the valley with his hands on his hips. “Do you remember how you got through last time?”

  “It was under the cover of night. All I remember was running, but I’ll find a way, don’t worry.”

  “Okay, but I don’t want you turning into a damn glow stick. Make sure you use your radiation detector at all times, you got that?”

  “Yes boss.” Ajax said, disappearing over the cliff and making his way carefully down the rocky trail and into the valley below.

  Spurious watched him go before resting on one of the rocks, feeling the fuzziness of fatigue setting in. He brought his hand to his face, wiping the dried cracks of blood caked skin from his swollen wounds. A blast of wind battered his face with dust particles, prompting him to claw at his eyes with bloody finger tips. “God damn it!” he yelled.

  The other soldiers paid him little attention and continued to survey the area.

  “Creo and Nathar, you take up sniping positions over there and there. I want Ajax covered from all angles,” Obi said, pointing at several rock formations.

  Nathar stood, his thick brown hair whipping wildly in the wind. He had quickly become one of the best scouts, and found a suitable rock formation within seconds.

  The cold wind continued its tirade and the soldiers took up their positions, while Spurious huddled inside the small hollow of a rock nearby. Obi glanced at him, watching him try and curl up in the safety of the depressed concave in the rock. He could see the fear bleeding from his frightened eyes, just like he saw in the young eyes of the new recruit. He remembered his father telling him fear was weakness. Part of which he believed, but for these young men turned soldiers, fear could also be their strength.

  He had seen it before, Nathar being a perfect example. Not long ago Nathar would shake before battle, his hands quivering uncontrollably. Now the man didn’t seem to worry about anything.

  There were times Obi feared death, but he never let it show. As commander it was his job to remain strong, unwavering even in the face of horror. Weakness caused fear, his father was right; and he promised himself he would never let his soldiers see it in his face.

  The howl of a dust storm picked up in the distance. Spurious stood and made his way to the edge of the formation, surveying the valley below. Having never been outside the walls of Tisaia, he did not recognize the barren landscape, the remains of the city below littering the dead earth. Everywhere his eyes fell, destruction and death looked back at him. He could only imagine how powerful the bomb that left the massive crater must have been, obliterating everything in its path and leaving its poisonous grip on the land.

  The sound of static broke though the intermittent wind as Obi’s radio blared to life.

  “Commander, this is Ran, over.”

  “Roger, Obi here, over.”

  “We just spotted a group of men on horses riding towards Nuke Valley. Over.”

  Obi rushed over to his pack to find his binoculars. From his position he couldn’t see any targets yet, just a cloud of dust intensifying in the distance. A gray sky had swallowed the sun, further clouding his vision.

  “There, at the edge of the crater,” one of the new recruits said, his torn gloves pointing at the swirling brown blur of dust.

  Obi removed his goggles and brought the binoculars to his naked eye. “That’s no dust storm,” he said, waving at Creo’s position.

  “Creo, this is Obi. Over.”

  “Roger, Creo here. Over.”

  “See if you can use your scopes to see what’s creating the dust, over.”

  “Sir, I have five men, maybe six on horseback. They look like raiders. And they’re heading straight for Ajax. Over.”

  “Shit,” Obi said, stomping the ground and pausing to stare into the valley below. He didn’t want to risk injuring any of his men, especially Spurious, but Ajax was heading blindly into a trap. He was already at least a mile away, outside of radio range, and in another minute he would be outside the safety range of their sniper rifles. Obi knew Creo was a good shot, but shooting one moving target at this distance would be next to impossible, let alone six. He also ran the risk of drawing attention to their own location if Creo fired any rounds. If there were more raiders in the area then he would be putting his entire squad at risk.

  Obi knew he needed to make a decision. He had seconds, not minutes before Ajax would be too far out of range for the protection of their rifles. A somber look crossed his face as he brought the radio back up to his mouth. He knew he couldn’t risk the squad for one man, even if it was Ajax.

  “Ran, come in. Over.”

  “Roger. Ran here. Over.”

  “Ran, I want you two to take shelter and wait for us to reach the spillway. We’re going to find some place to hide. I do not want a confrontation, do you understand? Over.”

  “Roger.”

  “Creo, hold your fire. Over.”

  “Sir?” Creo asked over the radio.

  “I said, hold your fire. He is on his own. Over.”

  A second of static rang out over the channel before Creo responded. “Understood, sir. Over.”

  The soldier reluctantly took his finger off the trigger and peered into his scope, watching the raiders ride towards Ajax, the brown dust trailing behind them.

  “Good luck, my fri
end.” Creo said under his breath.

  Time: 8:30 a.m. February 25, 2071.

  Location: Council of Royal Knights Administrative Offices, Capitol Building. Lunia, Tisaia

  The burly mail carrier waddled past security and entered the busy atrium of the CRK administrative offices. He navigated through the crowd of staffers and Knights, gripping a message tightly in his pocket, feeling the warmth of the fresh wax seal on his exposed palm.

  "Excuse me," he said, sucking in his gut and squeezing through two staffers talking quietly in the middle of the atrium. He was in a hurry and took his job very seriously, making every attempt to deliver his messages on time. The State had entrusted him with a great responsibility, for he carried messages so confidential they weren’t sent through the heavily encrypted electronic system. Messages so important, only carriers who were vetted and passed multiple background checks were even considered for employment.

  Not even the beauty of the marble atrium or the ceiling painted and stenciled with perfectly symmetrical lines could distract him. He had seen them many times before and had once marveled at the dazzling chandeliers hanging from the rafters, but those times had passed. The office was only another stop on his daily route.

  The carrier darted around another staffer and entered the administrative offices of Commander Augustus. Like the grand atrium, these offices were carved from marble and had magnificent chandeliers. The room was furnished with mahogany desks and a large table equipped with an AI hub.

  A petite female staffer led the carrier through the maze of desks; Knights in civilian clothes were fingering their blue screens and talking on wrist radios. The office was always busy and was staffed 24 hours a day.

  The long, sparsely lit hallway came into view as the carrier made his way past the last desk. He had never been back this far, but the urgency of his note allowed him to take it straight to Commander Augustus’ sentry guards.

  He rounded the corner, the staffer parting ways with a small nod when the Knights came into focus. They towered above the small burly carrier.

  "State your business," the Knight closest to him said.

  The carrier reached nervously into his pocket for the note which he had hid deep in the bowels of his coat. Finally he retrieved it and, with a shaking hand, gave it to the Knight.

  The Knight spun, his armor creaking. The carrier watched him stride down the hallway lined with statues of fallen Knights. He stood on his tip toes to see over the other guard’s armor, hoping to make out the faces of the famed statues. It was the one marvel he had heard of but had never seen.

  The guard rotated his head; his glowing blue goggles peered down on the carrier, who took a step back, frowning. "Is there something else you need?" the guard asked.

  "No, no. I just wanted to make sure the letter got to Commander Augustus," he said, stuttering.

  "I can assure you, it will," the Knight replied, rotating his helmet once again.

  The carrier frowned, frustrated by the Knights continued lack of courtesy. He headed back towards the offices just before Commander Augustus opened his office door and grabbed the note out of the Knight’s hand, quickly retreating.

  With a sigh, he took a seat. He tore into the letter and removed the handwritten note, dropping the envelope on his spotless oak desk.

  Commander Augustus,

  Last night we dispatched a squad of Knights into Rohania to capture a SGS worker named Spurious Timur. Our contact gave us reason to believe his parents helped found the TDU.

  Unfortunately, the squad was ambushed, leaving no survivors. Spurious escaped and our contact was killed in the crossfire. We believe the attack was orchestrated by the TDU and have found evidence of armor-piercing rounds used only by TDU soldiers.

  We have several patrols combing Rohania for the perpetrators of this attack and I’ll keep you updated with any new information my office receives in the coming hours.

  In Honor,

  Supreme Knight Morr

  Commander Augustus set the message down on his desk softly, and leaned back in his chair to catch his first view of the Battle of Thermopylae for the day. He had the painting from his personal office replicated and hung on the wall of his offices at both the CRK headquarters and the administrative offices.

  He stared at the image of the few hundred Spartans battling an army of thousands of Persian warriors. For the longest time Augustus had believed the citizens he was trying to protect were like those several hundred Spartans, strong, loyal and selfless. But it was when he received messages like this, he began to question if this was delusional.

  State employees had everything they needed: clothing, housing, food, and relative safety. If they wanted to find a wife or husband, they could simply apply for one, and receive someone that matched them perfectly. So why did they continue to try and escape?

  This was not the first time Augustus had seen a note like this, and it wouldn’t be the last. And as he had in the past, he would forget this traitor. He crumpled the paper in his hand and tossed in into the fireplace, watching it burn slowly in the flames.

  Time: 10:01 a.m. February 26, 2071.

  Location: Nuke Valley. The Wastelands

  Creo sucked in a lung full of air and held it, wrapping his hand around the end of the rifle and crawling to the edge of the boulder. The cold wind of the morning bit into his jacket, but he did not flinch. He placed his eye against the scope and glassed the valley below, searching for Ajax. The ash and dust swirled violently over the cracked red earth, blurring his vision.

  He sniffled, lowering the scope and pulling the bandana down from his face, wiping a cold strand of snot from his nose. Then he brought the familiar scope back to his eye, squinting to survey the valley again.

  The scope revealed familiar sights: sun bleached bones, rebar protruding out of cracked concrete, and the scattered segments of road in places the wind had not covered the blacktop with dust, but he had lost sight of Ajax.

  He maneuvered to his left to get a better view. The scope brought the lead raider into focus. Creo zoomed in further, magnifying the man in the cross hairs. An ugly tusk like bone hung off his helmet. His naked chest was decorated with bones splintered and broken, only barely covering a scar running the length of his torso. He was a bulky man, dwarfing the other raiders with his thick frame.

  Creo took another deep breath and felt the hard metal of the trigger, massaging it with his well trained fingers, wanting desperately to take the shot. It was the type of shot snipers hoped they never had to make—out of viable range, with an unpredictable wind and limited visibility. He wasn’t even sure he could make it if Obi ordered him to do so.

  He rotated the rifle back to the right, glassing the valley again for Ajax. He tilted the barrel up slowly, combing the last stretch of blacktop where he had seen him. His crosshairs came to a stop on the concrete foundation of an old house, rebar extending out in all directions like branches from a dead tree. He zoomed in some more, magnifying the foundation, so he could see the cracks crawling up what was left of the small wall. And there he was, resting his back against the inside wall, peering out every minute or so at the approaching raiders.

  “Thank God, he has seen them,” Creo muttered over the wind, pleased Ajax had sensed the danger following him.

  Creo rotated the rifle again, taking in a breath and lining the cross hairs up with the raiders. They were on the black top now, about one hundred yards from the foundation, quickly closing in.

  “Shit, he’s a sitting duck.” Creo said, lining the cross hairs back up with the pack of raiders. He gripped the rifle harder and wiped his exposed nose with his elbow.

  He watched helplessly as the raiders barreled down on Ajax’s location. The dust from their horses swirled behind them, mixing a collage of red and black ash into the air like a trail of dark blood. A howling wind was beginning to pick up, clouding his view of the raiders honing in on Ajax. Through the wind he could hear something else. His ears strained to hear it, but the wind was t
oo loud. He hustled further out on the ledge, trying to get a better view of Obi’s position, stumbling over the rock and climbing quickly to a new position.

  The noise broke through the wind again, a buzzing sound. He paused, clawing at the sharp rock, making his way higher. The sound was familiar, something he recognized. A sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up at the very hum.

  “Scorpions,” he cried, stumbling over the rocky surface again, making his way up higher into the rock formation for a better view.

  He knelt down and brought the scope to his eye again. Sure enough, a trio of Scorpions came out of the west, racing over the hard cold ground. They tore onto the blacktop, a thick cloud of dust exploding from behind their oversized tires.

  The raiders weren’t after Ajax. They were trying to escape into Nuke Valley.

  He paused, listening to the scream of their mini guns erupt over the wind, before kneeling to watch the slaughter. The riders were quickly cut down, the CRK bullets tearing through the men and their horses, sending chunks of flesh and body parts into the air. Within seconds all of the raiders except the leader were dead. Somehow he managed to dismount his horse. He stumbled towards the foundation where Ajax was hiding, a thick trail of blood flowing from his wounds.

  The trio of Scorpions surrounded the man, smoke crawling out of their silent barrels. Creo watched him totter back and forth before finally collapsing onto the dusty earth next to the concrete wall.

  The Knights must want him alive.

  Minutes passed and the man lay in the dirt, motionless. One of the Scorpion doors opened and a Knight stepped out into the dusty wind, pointing his rifle at the fallen raider. He walked towards the man cautiously.