Nicholas Smith - The Biomass Revolution

Obi took a deep breath in his bandana, relieved the dust storm disguised his friend’s retreat. The remaining two Scorpions hadn’t seen him leave the bunker, or were too busy painting Obi’s position with bullets to care.

Obi kneeled back down on the floor of the bunker, pausing to think over his next move.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

Another blast of dust swirled into the bunker, clouding his vision. Once the grime cleared from his goggles he scanned his belongings, looking for something, anything to keep him alive. He scrambled through his gear, tearing through his pack, but his hands came up empty.

Overhead the roar of mini-gun fire broke through the wind. Obi turned to shield his face as chunks of concrete rained down on him; then he saw it—Ajax’s bag of grenades lying in a heap in the corner of the bunker. Why hadn’t he thought of them before? The first grenade had been lucky, but with an entire bag of grenades he might not need luck.

He brought his radio back up to his mouth to radio a message to his squad. He pressed the speak button, but static crackled over the channel. He could hear faint voices over the channel, but could not send a message. His eyes shot down and fell upon the broken screen, cracked from his earlier fall. The panic crept through his veins.

“Shit!” He stomped and raised his pistol above the bunker wall, fired off a few random shots. The wall shook as another armada of bullets tore into its outer concrete shell. Obi shook from the blast and kneeled back on the ground.

Patience. Remember what you learned at the academy; the best defense is a good offense.

Obi took a deep breath and grabbed the bag of grenades. Standing up, he cocked his pistol and peered slightly over the edge of the concrete wall. The two Scorpions were less than 20 feet apart and were not firing, conserving their ammo for a solid target. “You cowards!” he yelled, standing and firing another couple of rounds in their direction before retreating back into the bunker.

The bag of grenades was his only chance. If he could land the bag in the middle of the Scorpions, he had a chance of getting out of there alive.

It’s a long shot, but worth a try.

Obi had never been a man to contemplate his fate; he knew he might die on the battlefield and he accepted it for what it was. He was a soldier and had been his entire adult life. In situations where his demise seemed almost certain, he didn’t waste time. He did what he was trained to do.

On the count of five , he thought, sucking in a chest full of dust as he tossed the grenades into the air and pulled himself out of the bunker high enough to get a decent shot.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

A fiery blast erupted from the Scorpion’s mini guns as he watched the bag land in the dirt directly in the middle of the two vehicles. He stopped counting and pulled the hard trigger of his pistol, watching the first bullet whizz past the bag and ping off the shell of the closest Scorpion harmlessly. Before he could fire another shot, a bullet ripped through his right shoulder, coming clean out the other side. A spurt of blood exploded out of his back, the bullet piercing the small bunker wall behind him.

He screamed in pain and fired another shot into the sky wildly, losing control of his pistol. Another bullet from the Scorpion’s gun grazed his lower left thigh seconds later. Blood poured down his failing body as he began to fall backwards, down into the gray abyss of the bunker.

Time crawled to a stop as he fell. Above the world spun, ash and dust colliding, but inside him the terror of his impending doom mounted. It was a feeling he was accustomed to as a soldier. It was different every time, but this one was more powerful. The terror was deeper, gripping him with jagged claws.

He blinked to see the gray clouds splitting the sky, and then something that didn’t belong, a flash of metal in the distance. It was another vehicle on the horizon.

Obi squinted to make out the shape and saw it wasn’t one, but two vehicles, and then three. He first thought they were CRK reinforcements, but as his eyes focused on the small shapes in the distance he knew it was his own.

“You save any for us?” a voice said, crackling over the radio. Obi smiled, recognizing the hoarse voice of Jackson, seconds before a flash from an anti-tank missile raced through the air. He closed his eyes, the heat from the explosion searing his eyebrows, before he crashed onto the bunker floor and slipped into unconsciousness.

Time: 6:36 a.m. January 29, 2071

Location: Governor’s Private Chambers, Capitol Building. Lunia, Tisaia

A faint ray of orange crawled over the Eastern wall of Tisaia, spreading an unusual and gracious carpet of light over the city accustomed to vast shades of gray. At the center of the Capitol city the first rays of light reached the golden dome of the Capitol building, creating a radiant glare high in the morning sky. Inside, several of the Governor’s staff members were already busy working and hardly noticed the rare light. Governor Felix Steppe was nowhere to be seen, however, and was likely still sleeping in his heavily guarded mansion.

In the Governor’s private chamber, Chief of Staff Manx Sonii sat at the head of a marble table, reading over several pieces of legislation and savoring his morning tea. Sonii wanted to make sure he was prepared to brief the Governor later in the day. There were several controversial bills scheduled for debate in the one-chamber legislature.

He rustled through the stack of yellowed paper and pulled out Bill 12b, easily considered the most controversial. The bill, an extension of Bill 12a, was drafted by the Plebrocrats. Its main component was to outlaw Biomass from leaving Tisaia. With scientists creating a more efficient and plentiful version, there were those who argued it should be shared. The advocates for sharing Biomass believed there were other governments around the world that had survived the Biomass Wars, but none of these legislators could provide any evidence.

Sonii, like many other high ranking Tisaian officials, knew the rumors were true. He had spent days tucked away in his office, combing through the piles of briefs. Some contained information on pockets of civilization in South America, mostly in the coastal regions; Rio de Janerio, Lima and Buenos Aires. It was the brief on Iraq, however, that fascinated him the most.

Sonii was something of a history connoisseur. In his studies he came to know Iraq as the cradle of civilization. When he found out life had not only survived there, but was flourishing, he was amazed at the irony. The war torn country was one of the harshest environments known to man. Perhaps this was one reason humans survived there; it was engrained in their DNA, having survived war, famine and plague for a millennia. Whatever the reason, it gave him hope. Not the type easy to create either. It was deeper than that, more than just a dream. It was the type that drove an individual to madness. For him, it was a hope for Tisaia. That the TDU would be crushed and complete order restored.

Sonii was a very organized leader. He didn’t like it when things became unmethodical. His life was like a puzzle; every piece had a place. When the pieces didn’t fit, he found a solution. The TDU was the piece he just couldn’t seem to find the solution for, but he knew in time there would be one. There was always a solution. He always made the pieces fit.

To Sonii, Tisaia was not an anomaly. There was a reason the State rose out of the ashes of the Biomass Wars intact and stronger than any other place in the world. He believed Tisaia was fated to be. It was a solution to rid the world of Democracy and Capitalism. And he would do anything to protect it, especially its secrets.