Nicholas Smith - The Biomass Revolution

Time: 11:33 p.m. January 23, 2071

Location: The Ale House. Lunia, Tisaia

A mist rose a few feet above the damp city streets. Spurious placed his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat, wading through the thick fog, and making his way down the brick street.

Against his better judgment, he decided to meet Paulo and Ing at The Ale House located in the East Village about five blocks east of the Commons Buildings. Spurious was already 30 minutes late, having fallen asleep after coming home from work.

He took in a large breath and exhaled a puff of visible air into the night, realizing how unusually excited he was. For some reason, he had a burning desire to know who this person was, regardless of what danger was associated with them.

He stopped to peer into the window of one of his favorite stores. The wood sign hanging above the window read, The Magician. Several candles in the windowsill gave off a warm glow, illuminating a shelf full of antiques lined with items from the past.

He had picked up a few trinkets here—a wooden cross the owner had explained held significant spiritual value and a small handheld device with a tiny apple engraved on the back that read, iPod. They were artifacts from the old world, where technology and spirituality were both meant to comfort. But those days were long gone. Religions of the past had all but been forgotten—religion was now the State. God was no longer a being, it was the government.

The East Village was one of the only places left in Tisaia that wasn’t State subsidized. These small businesses consisted of bakeries, taverns, boutique stores, and bars. They were the last of their kind, a haven for the curious State worker who wanted a glimpse into the world as it once was.

Spurious knew the unfortunate truth—the shop’s days were numbered. With more and more of these businesses forced to close their doors each year as the State passed laws banning their products. It was only a matter of time before they were all closed. Some of them broke health laws while others sold illegal electronic devices that wouldn’t pass energy audits.

Fortunately, the State did not have the time or the resources to enforce their laundry list of laws, and while his superiors constantly advised him and his co-workers to stay out of the East Village, most of them never listened.

In the distance, Spurious could see a line of citizens waiting to enter The Ale House. He cracked a half smile and dug his hands deeper into the warmth of his pockets.

The State has a long way to go from shutting this place down.

He entered the back of the line and kept his face nuzzled in his collar, inching forward with the mass of citizens. Within minutes he was inside.

“There he is!” Ing shouted over the noise of the growing crowd. Paulo and Ing had been lucky and found the first wooden table in the bar.

The Ale House was small for an eatery, consisting of only two floors. The first floor was built with rich cedar, salvaged from before the Biomass Wars. The walls were lined with framed magazine articles and newspaper pages also from the past, long before the Lunia Post existed.

The first floor was reserved for tables and patrons ordering food and ale. The underground floor added to the charm of The Ale House. It was made completely of stone and was used mostly as a dance floor, although there was also a bar downstairs. This area was known as “The Cave” and had a rich history. It was supposedly a hide out for the rebels during the first stages of the ongoing Biomass Revolution. It was said that the first rebel leaders of the Tisaian Democratic Union were betrayed by one of their own and ambushed there not two years ago. The Cave was also rumored to have several underground passages leading into the tunnel system.

Spurious raised his hand to summon a bar maid and glanced over at Ing. “Sorry I’m late. I fell asleep in my rain room again when I got off work. I just can’t seem to get enough of it lately.”

“What’s with the naps, man? You sure do sleep a lot,” Ing replied.

Spurious shrugged. “Work has been really stressful lately,” he said, grabbing a tavern chip from a basket in the middle of the table.

“It isn’t a big deal. Just seems like when you aren’t at work, you’re sleeping in your rain room.”

“Consider it a hobby of mine,” Spurious said, laughing.

“Beats what I do after work,” Paulo chipped in. “I’m always exhausted after I manage to get out of the office. I usually don’t make it past my couch. At least Spurious gets to the rain room.”

Ing rolled his eyes. “When did you guys become so boring?”

“So if we’re so boring, why don’t you explain what you do after work?” Spurious said, irritably.

Ing took a long swig of his ale. “You know, stuff. I watch the blue screen and come here.”

“Sounds pretty exciting,” Paulo sneered.

“Just in time!” Spurious exclaimed, ignoring Paulo and reaching for a pint of ale the bar maid carried towards their table.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his hands together and grabbing the cold mug. He took a long swig of the ale and then stole a glance over his shoulder to mentally map out the bar. There were a few familiar faces, other State employees he had seen before, but no one out of the ordinary.

He turned his attention back to his friends. “What’s the plan tonight, gentleman?”

“Actually, we were hoping you could tell us why you invited us here. This isn’t like you. What’s the occasion?” Paulo asked.

Spurious avoided the question. “Does anyone want to check out The Cave later?”

“My old bones could use some dancing, I suppose,” Paulo said with a smile.

Spurious laughed. “I’d love to see that.”

“You know I have been dancing longer than you both have been alive. In my home country of Brazil, dancing was taught at a young age. Growing up, we were so poor it was one of the only things to do for fun.”

Ing cringed. “Dancing, fun? If you say so, old man.”

“Ing, you’re proving you have the mind of a child.” Paulo muttered. “I thought I taught you more than this.”

That’s Paulo! Spurious thought, sitting back and watching his old friend emerge.

“I have the mind of a child because I don’t believe in conspiracy theories? Did you stop to think maybe I just don’t care? Did you think maybe the reason I don’t ask questions is because I don’t want to end up being visited by the Knights?” Ing shot back.

Spurious frowned and ordered another pint from a young barmaid. Her face lit up as he dropped a credit on her tray.

“That’s to keep the ale flowing,” he shouted.

A loud beat of electronic music exploded out of the entrance to The Cave, drowning out his arguing friends. He wiped away a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead and watched the tavern fill with patrons. One by one he scanned their faces, searching desperately for whoever may have sent him the message.

Slowly intoxication gripped him and he found himself staring at the bar, admiring the waterfall creeping down the granite.

“You better slow down there, Spurious. You don’t want to get lost on your way home tonight. I heard the Knights have been snatching State workers up in the middle of the night,” Paulo said with a grin.

Spurious cast Paulo a quick glare while he took another swig of his ale. A few strands of hair fell down his sweaty forehead, but he quickly brushed them back into place. He knew he should keep his wits, but the anonymous message earlier in the day had brought on a wave of anxiety only ale could relieve.

“Ah, I don’t worry about that anymore,” he lied.

“Shit, Paulo, why do you have to dampen the night with some of that crap. I just want to stare at some ladies I’ll never sleep with, get incredibly drunk, fail miserably while asking one of them to dance and finally go home and pass out,” Ing replied. “Is that too much to freaking ask?”