The Biomass Revolution

Chapter 4: Guerrilla Warfare

Terminus sat at his post, overlooking the trolley station below. He took a bite of a cold turkey sandwich, chewing it slowly with his old and broken teeth. These days he had to be careful when eating, for he didn’t have the money to get another one of his teeth fixed. His age had started to catch up with him, and his teeth were only one of the harsh realities he faced on a day to day basis.

The screech of a trolley screamed out in the night, bringing Terminus to his feet as he squinted to make out the train in the distance. The station Terminus worked had been in operation for ten years and was the largest trolley station in Tisaia. Its sole purpose was to carry Biomass across the country from the facilities to the cities, which powered their vehicles, and supplied their heat and energy needs.

As the massive oval light of the trolley burst over the horizon, Terminus put his sandwich on a handkerchief and raced down the stairs to the platform. Three other State workers joined him on the brick ledge of the trolley docking station. The red of their overalls blended in like camouflage under the red glow of the street lights lining the trolley platform. Terminus nodded at Decima, a maintenance worker he had worked with for years.

Terminus’s radio blared to life as the trolley continued to close in on the station. “Biomass trolley 467, approaching dock station #10. Requesting permission to dock for repairs, over,” the conductor said, over the static of the radio.

Terminus brought his black, wallet-sized radio up to his mouth, his overgrown mustache covering the small device. “Permission granted," he responded.

The mechanics waited at the edge of the tracks for the trolley to approach. They watched as the trolley began to slow, its electric brakes protesting, sending sparks shooting from the underbelly.

Decima stood by the edge of the tracks, his ears instantly picking up the whine of the trolley’s engine. Over the years he had worked on hundreds of trains, and like the cries of a child, he became familiar with the sounds, knowing what each one meant. Tonight, however, the sound was different, unlike any he had ever heard.

The train docked at approximately 12:35 a.m., a cloud of smoke and steam rising from under the lid of the engine. Decima and Terminus immediately went to work, using the trolley’s running boards to climb onto the side of the engine compartment and reach the hood. They waited momentarily for the scorching mist to subside before going to work.

“Decima, hand me a wrench and on the count of three, we’ll open the hood.”

Decima nodded as he slid a wrench across the metal hood of the trolley. Terminus grabbed it and placed it over a large screw securing the left side of the engine’s lid. Decima mimicked this action, and they twisted their wrenches, freeing the lid from its restraint. The hood popped ajar and they worked together, lifting it to reveal the massive engine fed from a single pint of Biomass. Hard to imagine this pint could power the trolley the entire 200 miles, he thought, wiping the beads of sweat dripping off his wind burnt face. He placed his wrench back into the breast pocket of his red overalls and peered inside the bowels of the engine compartment. What they saw was something neither of them recognized — a tangled web of wires and plugs emerging from the overheated engine.

“What the hell,” Terminus muttered.

“How did that happen?” Decima responded, perplexed. What the pair of maintenance workers didn’t realize was the cords and wires were not part of the engine at all. The three years they spent at technical school had not prepared them for the mess of wires protruding from the engine compartment.

“I think we need to call this in to headquarters,” Decima said, in a concerned voice.

“No, we can fix this, Decima, we just need to get in there and figure out what the hell happened. If we call this into headquarters they’ll send us a brigade of Knights, and I really don’t want to be interrogated tonight.”

“It’s your call, boss,” Decima shrugged.

“Wait just one damn second, you two!” the trolley conductor cried from the side of the brick docking station. “That’s my train, and I’m responsible for it. I don’t know what you’re looking at over there, but if there’s a safety concern, then protocol is to contact the CRK.”

Terminus turned to look at the old conductor. The man’s face was pale and lined with age. A white mustache curled up towards his nose, looking as if it would tickle him and cause him to sneeze every time he spoke. The conductor spat a gob of brown chewing tobacco on the brick platform and waited for Terminus’ response.

“Okay, you call it in then, but I’m not going to wait for the CRK to get here. We’re going to try and fix this damn engine before we’re interrogated by those damn Tin Cans,” he said, smugly.

The conductor grunted. “Do what you have to do. I’ll call it in from your post,” he said, making his way up the ramp to the offices.

Terminus and Decima looked at one another. They both knew they had little chance of fixing the engine before a dozen Knights showed up with their shiny gmetal and a swarm of questions. Nonetheless they got to work pulling the loose wires from the engine, trying to determine where they were coming from.

After an hour of work the pair climbed off the running boards and back onto the sturdy brick docking station. They had cleared all but one wire out of the engine, and had found it attached to a small box under the Biomass cell. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it before. It was small, and if it weren’t for the wires, tiny enough to be overlooked by an amateur mechanic. The black casing didn’t appear to be an actual part of the engine. A dark red wire protruded from the center of it and ran up through the heart of the engine. Decima and Terminus stood by the side of the train, sipping from their canteens, and wondered if they really should wait for the CRK to arrive.

“I don’t know about this, Decima, have you ever seen anything like it?”

“I was just about to ask you the same question.”

“It’s pretty apparent that someone put this thing here, and I’m not sure I want to cut that wire,” Terminus said, sighing and taking another sip.

“Whatever it is, the wire is preventing the train from getting enough Biomass to run properly. So I suggest we cut the wire, remove the box, and get this train back on its way. This trolley has over five cars of Biomass, and it’s due in Lunia in two hours. That’s almost a week’s supply,” Decima explained. “Besides, we both know sabotaging a trolley is next to impossible. This is more than likely a new piece of technology the mechanics at a different post installed to help the train run more efficiently.”

“And we didn’t get the memo?” Terminus asked, frowning.

“They’ve stopped telling us when they add new parts to the trains. And with all the hype about new Biomass out there, it’s possible some mechanic added this without sending us a note,” Decima said, shrugging.

Terminus cocked his head to look back at the idle trolley. It was a truly magnificent machine. Its design, one he had studied at the Tisaian Engineering College, was developed by the same scientists who created the first batches of Biomass.

The trolley itself was over a thousand feet long and was made of a new lightweight metal, allowing it to literally glide over the tracks. It was so fast it could get anywhere in Tisaia within two hours. They rarely broke down, and when they did, it didn’t take long to get them back on the tracks. It was a remarkably efficient machine.

Terminus groaned. The trolleys had become his life’s work. Whenever something was wrong with one he felt it, like the metal was a part of him. In an odd sense, they were his giant pets. He was their caretaker, and fixing them so they could go back to work gave him great satisfaction.

“All right, Decima, let’s cut it. We can explain later that the wires were preventing the engine from getting enough Biomass to run efficiently. The mechanics who installed the damn thing can fix it, for all I care; this shipment of Biomass has to get to Lunia.”

Climbing back onto the running boards, Decima and Terminus stared back into the engine compartment. The tiny red wire peered back at them innocently.

Decima turned to look at his boss, who gave him the go ahead with a simple nod.

“Okay, you little son of a bitch. You’re someone else’s problem now,” Decima said, under his breath, reaching in with his wire cutter.

The small wire snapped easily between the sharp blades. Instantly, a spark erupted from the black box. Neither of the mechanics had time to react as they were enveloped in flames.

From the road several miles away, a patrol of CRK soldiers watched in shock as a mushroom cloud rose into the sky above.

“Shit, shit!” the lead Knight screamed, fumbling for his headset. “Headquarters! Come in. We have a situation. Over.” Static sounded for a few short seconds before anyone responded on the other line.

“Headquarters here. It’s almost 1:00 a.m.; what kind of situation do you guys have? Over,” a tired operator muttered.

“I don’t give a shit what time it is, get the Commanding Knight of District 1 on the line. We’ve lost a Biomass trolley. Over,” the Knight coughed into his headset.

“Roger. I’m sorry, sir. Right away,” the civilian responded, breaking proper radio procedure.

“Let’s move out, men. Check the area for any survivors, but be ready for any TDU, this could be a trap we’re walking into,” the lead Knight ordered.

He watched his patrol head through the dead forest, the inferno in the distance glowing in the reflection of his blue goggles. He shook his head and followed his men. “Damn rebels.”

Paulo sat at Trolley Station #14, waiting for a passenger train to take him to work. He was already running late and didn’t need another write up to further ruin his already dreary life. As he waited he pulled out his small blue screen tablet and read The Lunia Post. The tablet and subscription was just another one of the “perks” given to State workers. He would have preferred to read a paper copy of the Post, but the State had done away with all paper documents that weren’t for official business years ago.

He thumbed through the news, or what the State deemed news. On the front page was a story about a skirmish with some stragglers outside the walls who tried to make their way into Lunia through old storm drains. There was another story about a new policy SGS had implemented, requiring all State employees to continue education in their respective work areas for at least 50 hours a year.

What’s that going to help accomplish?

He sighed and put the tablet back into the bowels of his coat. The news was predictable, the same stories appearing in every edition with the occasional inspirational piece tied in. Paulo was no longer part of the State’s targeted audience. He had slipped beyond, reading between the lines and becoming increasingly bitter every day.

The tunnel was dark, illuminated only by a few red lights. One flickered intermittently, reminding him of the red lights from the train stop in his hometown. Like a subliminal warning, the light blinked—the red radiance shedding an eerie glow on the other State workers lining up on the platform.

The trolley, which was already running five minutes late, was nowhere to be seen.

That’s odd, this trolley is always on time.

Paulo quickly lost interest in the absent train and returned to people-watching. To his right sat a middle-aged businessman. The dark black suit and bright red sunglasses hugging the rims of his eyes gave him away. Paulo had seen his type before, but rarely at a trolley station. Most businessmen did not work for the State, but rather for companies developing new technologies that the State did not have the infrastructure or resources to develop. These businessmen mostly lived in the Commons Area with the other State workers, but some of them had built enough wealth to live outside the Commons and in gated communities.

Paulo chuckled under his breath. He remembered a time he was actually envious of these men and their fancy cars that broke the energy laws State workers were forced to follow. And why wouldn’t they? It was all a game. The wealthy gave a share of their profits to the State by transferring funds to the Legislature and high level officials. In turn, they were not forced to follow the strict laws the State imposed on its workers and citizens. If a Knight stopped them, they would simply show their identification card and be allowed to proceed.

Businessmen rarely ventured out; many had been robbed or kidnapped in an upsurge of violence in the past few years. That’s what really surprised Paulo about this one. He had seen them in trolley stations before, but usually with armed guards and an entourage of staff. This one, however, was traveling solo.

Paulo shrugged it off, glancing back down at his watch. The train was 11 minutes late, but there was nothing he could do about it. He pulled his tablet out again to pass the time and opened an article that actually interested him.

“New Biomass Production.”

He scanned through it, reading that a new Biomass factory was producing enough Biomass in a month to fuel all of Tisaia for another 15 years.

The red flicker of the light snapped him back to reality, and he watched as the inconvenienced patrons began to get nervous, several of them shuffling back and forth on the platform. Paulo glanced over at the businessman again and noticed he was still staring at the train tracks, unmoved from his position. A wave of anxiety shot through Paulo’s old body.

He stiffened and stood patiently, his eyes desperately scanning the tunnel before stopping on a sign that read, “Report Suspicious Activity to the CRK, Your Friends and Your Protectors.”

Paulo grinned. Yeah right, like I’d tell those Tin Cans if I saw anything suspicious.

The train was now over 17 minutes late and Paulo began to make his way through the crowd. Unlike these other workers, he could not afford to be late to work. He was going to try and make it to the office on foot. It was only five blocks away, and with about 15 minutes to spare here, he could make it if he hustled. He knew the excuse of a late trolley would not be acceptable to his boss.

Paulo pushed his way through the crowded station, catching a glimpse of a fully armored CRK foot soldier standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the street above. The soldier stood there frozen, like a statue; his rifle at his shoulders, resting perfectly on the skin of his gmetal armor. A shudder went down Paulo’s back as he saw the soldier, but he didn’t know why. For the most part contact with the CRK was an everyday occurrence, but today it frightened Paulo more than it normally would. The flickering red light, the late train, the out of place businessman, and now a soldier only reminded him he constantly lived in a state of fear.

The top step came into view just as he heard the whining of the trolley’s engine. He turned in time to see the crowd move forward, the lump of people pushing their way closer to the tracks to ensure a seat on the trolley.

Just my luck.

He turned to head back down the stairs, his back slightly hunched over, clutching the hand rail of the stairway. As he took another step, a voice screamed out over the commotion. “He’s got a gun!”

Paulo turned and scanned the crowd desperately, in time to see the businessman he had been sitting next to point a machine gun at the crowd. Deafening gun shots echoed off the concrete tunnel walls. Instinctively he dropped to the concrete, the stale taste of dust finding its way into his open mouth.

He watched as the trolley doors opened and several more men dressed like the businessman jumped out into the crowd, their machine guns raised. The CRK soldier opened fire immediately, the bullets tearing through two State workers who fell, thick pools of blood oozing out of their warm bodies.

“Oh my God,” Paulo whispered, frozen in fear. It was really happening. This wasn’t just a story in The Lunia Post. This was real.

Paulo gripped the railing tightly and watched the CRK soldier run towards the four terrorists. He fired haphazardly, his bullets cutting down innocent civilians in his path. The terrorists, who were most likely part of the TDU, fired back, their bullets ricocheting off the CRK soldier’s armor with little effect.

The scene was straight out of a nightmare, one Paulo had seen so many times before in his dreams, and now he had a front row seat. He watched as the screaming civilians dove for cover. The terrorists were positioned behind the safety of stone pillars, firing desperately at the CRK soldier, who ducked behind a stone trash can, pieces of rock exploding from their incoming shots.

“Get down!” one of the terrorists screamed as he lobbed a grenade towards the CRK soldier. The small explosive rolled towards the trash can and came to a stop directly at the foot of the CRK soldier, who was too busy firing to notice it. Seconds later the device exploded, sending a cloud of orange flames and sparks through the air. The explosion rocked the tunnel and blew the CRK soldier in half, his torso landing several feet from a woman who lay screaming. The piercing noise of the explosion subsided as smoke began to fill the corridor.

Paulo sat stunned against the wall, a loud ringing echoing in his ears. He reached up and felt warm blood seeping from his face, but it did not faze him. His eyes remained glued to the scene, scanning the carnage. At least five civilians lay silently on the ground. Another 20 screamed in pain, clutching their bullet and shrapnel wounds. The rest of the civilians ran past Paulo as they tried to escape.

A man grabbed Paulo by the shoulders, his frightened eyes locking onto Paulo’s. “Let’s go, man, what are you doing?!” he screamed. He pulled on Paulo’s tan sweater, but Paulo ignored him, his eyes darting back to the scene. The man let go of his sweater, and took off running with the rest of the survivors.

Below the four terrorists had gone back into the train and were kneeling around a small box. Paulo knew immediately it was a bomb, but the reality of the situation still had not fully hit him. In fact, in an odd way it fascinated him. He strained to hear what the terrorists were saying through his injured ears.

In the distance the whine of CRK sirens rang out, and the ground began to shake with the sound of armored vehicles approaching the tunnel.

“We don’t have much time,” one of the terrorists yelled. He took out a knife and cut the wire of the bomb he was attaching to the center of the trolley.

“Okay, it’s armed!” He stood and patted his comrade on the shoulder. The other three terrorists rose as well. The one in the middle, the same one that Paulo had been sitting by earlier, brushed off his dusty black suit. He appeared to be limping.

“We do this and then make our escape. Nathar, you put the coordinates into the trolley’s computer, so when it leaves here it goes straight to the CRK headquarters. When you’re done, follow us down the tunnel. Ajax, you and Creo follow me back into the storm tunnels,” the leader said.

Paulo sat watching the four men as they began to move in all different directions. The injured leader, the one Creo referred to as Obi slowly made his way off the train. The dark man grabbed his arm and helped him jump down onto the tracks. Then they disappeared from sight, Ajax close behind them.

Paulo continued to sit against the staircase; he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. Something compelled him to stay and watch. For years he heard about the TDU terrorists, and now he was watching the feared men conduct their work right in front of him. Part of his shock was from fear, but part of it was also from curiosity and mere fascination. In a way, he was almost rooting for the terrorists.

He scanned the bodies of his fellow State workers below and stopped on the torso of the CRK soldier. The truth was, he felt a sense of relief it wasn’t him laying there in a pool of blood.

“Move, move, move!” screamed a dozen CRK soldiers. They ran past Paulo and into the carnage below. One of the soldiers stopped and glanced at Paulo. “Are you all right, sir?” he asked, a semi-concerned tone in his voice. Paulo simply nodded, and looked back down at the trolley as it began to move down the tunnel.

“Don’t let that trolley leave!” the lead CRK soldier shouted. He opened fire on the metal skin of the trolley. Windows exploded as the bullets tore through the thin metal and fragile glass, but it was too late. Nathar had already plotted the train’s course and put it on autopilot, and by now, he and his comrades were long gone down the dark tunnel. The soldiers continued to fire as the train slipped away from range.

Finally, shocked into motion, Paulo crawled up the stairway towards the light above. Step by step, he pulled himself higher, more faceless CRK soldiers and medical workers racing past him.

For Paulo, everything became silent. Thoughts of the carnage escaped his mind as he fixated on the bright white light of the street poles above. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. The TDU, Knights, and injured colleagues were now just an afterthought. All he cared about was reaching the light. It was captivating and beckoned him with its dazzling glow.

With a final push he reached the last step and crawled onto the stone ground above. He rolled on to his back, staring into the light, his chest heaving with every labored breathe.

Life is strange. So much death, and for what?

He laughed as his vision blurred and stars danced across his cloudy line of sight. The bright glare of the light became nothing but an illusion of swirling white. It was seconds later, just before an explosion from the tunnels swallowed him, that he answered his own question.

The death, misery, and suffering were all derived from the same thing; Biomass, and fossil fuels before it. As the inferno raced up the stairway, he cracked a smile. His eyes locked onto the Biomass-fed light pole before he was incinerated.

Spurious was bored. He was sitting in his cubicle staring at Archie, when he felt the blast. It shook the entire building, and knocked his plastic clock off the wall. He immediately grabbed Archie’s bowl, making sure it did not fall and break.

Spurious peeked out of his cubicle to examine the deafening roar, but all he could see were State workers running down the hall towards the receptionist desk, where a radio was transmitting something over the airwaves.

He quickly got up from his desk and followed his co-workers down the hall. He already knew something was terribly wrong. He thought about what Leo had told him a few days before, and deep down he knew his life had already changed. Part of this caused a great sense of excitement deep in his gut, but there was also the anxiety of change he always feared.

At the end of the hallway SGS workers cluttered around the receptionist’s desk, listening to what sounded like the deep voice of Governor Felix.

“State employees and citizens of Tisaia. We’re now at a cross roads between good and evil. This morning, at 1:30 a.m., terrorists affiliated with the TDU detonated a bomb in a trolley carrying a five week’s supply of Biomass to Lunia. And at approximately 8:00 a.m. a second attack occurred as TDU terrorists boarded a passenger trolley and planted a second bomb. They had planned for the trolley to explode under the CRK headquarters building, but thanks to the bravery of our fine Knights, the bomb was detonated before it could reach its final target.

“It’s with great sadness that I tell you we lost many good Knights and State workers today. But I assure all of you that you need not fear for your lives or for your safety. As of today, the CRK will engage in a campaign to eradicate the TDU from Tisaia and from the very dirt of this earth. Nothing will stop me from taking the lives of every last one of these terrorists.”

Spurious could hear the anger in the words of the Governor. Confusion rushed over him as he thought about his dead colleagues, and then his family, who had been murdered by the CRK. His heart fluttered heavily as he first thought of his mother and father, and then of Lana, the woman he had grown to love but could never have.

Nervous chatter exploded throughout the room as State workers began to discuss the Governor’s announcement.

“All right, folks, let’s get back to work. It does not seem like there’s any immediate danger to us here in this building. If there is, I have been assured by CRK officials that they will evacuate the building,” Varius said.

It wasn’t until lunch that news of the fatalities started trickling into the office. Spurious was attempting to work on a document when a pale Ing rushed into his cubicle, a look of despair streaked across his young face. Before Ing said, anything, Spurious knew something was terribly wrong.

“Paulo never made it to work today,” Ing said, quietly.

A wave of panic washed over Spurious. “Let’s go find him Ing.”

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

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.

“You’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. Don’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 bass 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 anything 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.”