“Spurious,
We have gotten an influx of new tunnel projects—priority red. I’ll need you to get started on mapping them as soon as possible. Make no mistake, this comes from the top.
Regards,
Miria”
“Beats the plumbing projects,” Spurious said, quietly. With another swipe from his finger, a 3D image of the tunnels underneath Lunia emerged from a tiny opening in his desk. He rotated his chair, and began to study the red holographic lines snaking their way across his table.
The tunnels had always interested him. They were the grand engineering marvels from the early 21st century. And there were so many of them, like the never-ending entrails of a snake, winding their way deeper and deeper beneath the city. What little he knew came from what his father had told him when he was just a child—a fascinating story about the old world. It was a tale about how things once were; when governments sent their emissaries to meetings where they discussed solutions to the laundry list of problems the world faced. They talked about the dwindling supply of oil, global climate change and rising sea levels, but the talks never materialized. Temperatures rose, oil disappeared and the polar ice caps slowly melted. In a last ditch chance to protect cities from the scorching sun and gamma rays, the United States embarked on an engineering feat not seen since the creation of the New Deal and the building of the Panama Canal. They created new cities, completely underground.
Spurious thumbed through the holographic lines and enlarged a section of tunnel underneath Rohania, a suburb of Lunia. It was here, where he was born, that the tunnels were the deepest. It was going to be a daunting mission to map them all—a mission that supposedly came from the top.
He stared at the contours, watching them snake deeper into the ground. What was so important about the tunnels? Why were his superiors so interested in what lay beneath the city streets?
Spurious shook the curious thoughts out of his mind and continued to study the holographic lines crawling across his desk. He knew not to question his work. Mapping the tunnels was going to be overwhelming, but it was his job.
By the time he was done analyzing the new data, it was time for lunch. He looked down at Archie, who peered back with his oversized eyes, his small gills flexing in and out.
It’s pretty amazing that I can’t breathe in there, and you can’t breathe out here.
Spurious smiled at his small companion and stood, stretching with a long groan before shutting off his blue screen and heading to the cafeteria.
Saving energy had become law in the year 2061. The State rarely arrested workers for small offenses. More likely, were write-ups which could cost an employee a promotion. He’d seen it happen to his old pod mate, Paulo.
Spurious thought of his old friend as he made his way through the corridor of cubicles. One after another, the white structures of cubicles lined the walls. All cages, housing people just like him. He never liked to peer into these work stations as he passed, hoping others would respect his privacy as he respected theirs. There was one cubicle he could not restrain himself from looking in. It was that of Lana Padilla, a 25 year old dark-haired secretary with piercing brown eyes. Spurious heard the only reason she was given the prestigious and well paying job was because of her beauty. This was one situation where resumes, experience and name dropping didn’t matter. There had been only one interview before her supervisor, Varius, hired her as his assistant.
Spurious paused for a moment as he passed the manager’s office. He was a disgusting man, sitting in his plush chair, his gut hanging over the same pair of desert tan khakis he wore every day. And then there were his glasses. They were as thick as a magnifying glass, the rims coated with dandruff flaking off his receding and graying hair.
Spurious frowned and continued down the hall towards the cafeteria, his head down, while he contemplated what he would say to Lana. As her workspace came into view, he brushed a strand of his brown hair back into position and cracked his unmistakable half smile. “Hey Lana…” he said, his voice trailing off as the quiet tick of a clock filled his ears.
He craned his neck further into the office to see it was empty. The only explanation he could gather was she was at home with a cold. There was a virus going around the office—a virus not even the gallons of bleach had been able to prevent.
Spurious shrugged her absence off and continued down the hall towards the scent of food, trying to conceal his disappointment.
The cafeteria was busy for a Wednesday. Most people brought their lunch from home to save credits, but today the dining hall was doing well.
There were two lines: one for deli sandwiches, and the other for salad and porridge. These were some of the only foods the State deemed healthy enough for employees to eat. The entire list could be found in Law 204. It was yet another edict on state workers he had memorized.
Spurious got sick of having the same thing every day, but it was better than what those trying to survive outside the protection of the great Tisaian walls had to eat.
He approached the white, shiny counter, blinded momentarily by the reflection off a metal tray. His vision quickly came back into focus and the toothless grin of one of the cafeteria assistants came into view.
“Hey there, Spurious, what’s it going to be today?” she asked.
He gritted his teeth and tried to hide his disgust. “I think I’m just going to have my usual.”
“All right. One tuna salad on white, with one slice of cheese and tomato.”
“You know me too well,” Spurious said, with a smile, grabbing the tray from her.
The pungent smell of tuna entered his nostrils, reminding him of the smell of bleach. These were two smells he would never escape; another two pieces of the monotonous puzzle making up his life.
He stared down at the sandwich, realizing that, over the years, tuna had become almost tasteless to him. Sometimes he even wondered if it was really tuna, having never seen one in his life. Ever since the Biomass Wars ended, the boundaries around Tisaia were fortified. No one was allowed to leave and no one was allowed in. He knew it was impossible for the State to ship tuna in from the ocean. The only explanation he could deduce was that the State had massive stockpiles of canned goods stored away in vaults underground. Like many State workers, he had heard of these vaults, but never seen one in person, or in any of the engineering design work he analyzed.
“Over here, Spurious,” yelled Paulo.
Spurious made his way down the armada of white tables filled with his co-workers. He spotted Paulo and his best friend Ing at a table at the far edge of the cafeteria. After wading through the lines of SGS employees, Spurious finally sat down with his friends.
“What’s going on?” Ing asked, as Spurious took a seat.
Spurious sighed. “I’ve spent the majority of my day staring at holographic images of the tunnels. Pretty exciting stuff,” he lied.
Ing leaned closer to Spurious and whispered across the table.
“Oh yeah? What can you tell us? Anything secretive going on?”
Spurious cracked a half smile and shot Ing a quick glance before taking a large bite out of his sandwich.
He chewed loudly while he spoke. “You know I’m not at liberty to say, but…”
“But what Spurious?”
Spurious shook his head. “It’s nothing, nothing important.”
Ing rolled his eyes before staring at his porridge. “You get to see all the neat stuff,” he said, swirling his spoon playfully in the creamy soup.
“I wish I had something to keep me busy. I don’t know if I can wait another five years to get out of this place. It really is a nightmare, doing the same old thing day in and day out. Maybe I should get a fish to stare at, too,” Paulo said, frowning.
“Five years isn’t that long. You’ve been here for how long? Twenty years? Another five isn’t going to kill you,” Spurious reassured his friend.
Paulo looked down at his small bowl of browning cabbage. His eyes were rimmed with cre
ases and his eyes were dull. Strands of receding blonde hair crept down his forehead and crawled down his thick sideburns like a vine down a tree. Ing looked at Spurious, blatantly concerned.
Ever since Paulo lost his promotion, things had changed. After waiting five years for a transfer to the Sector of the Treasury, Paulo was to be promoted to Bureau Chief of Insurance Claims, which also marked quite the raise in salary. If he played his cards right, he might have been able to move out of government housing and buy a small condominium outside the Commons, where the rest of the workers lived. That dream ended one day when Paulo forgot to turn off his computer, lamp, and office light before going home from work for the third time. His penalty was a write-up, costing him his promotion.
The once articulate and outspoken man seemed broken and aged. Ing and Spurious knew they had to continue to try and motivate their old friend. With his golden years ahead, he should be managing a group of young people Spurious’ age, but due to a small mistake, his life was put on hold for at least another five years, if not indefinitely.
Spurious took one last bite out of his sandwich before he turned to Paulo, attempting to cheer him up. “Tell us about the time you did an audit at the Biomass factory outside the city limits. I’ve been hearing rumors they are creating an even more efficient Biomass.”
The old man blinked a few times, as if he was trying to remember. “Oh yes, the one I traveled to a year or so ago. It was a magnificent facility. The factory floor was lined with circular fuel tanks that rose hundreds of meters into the air. Workers in blood red uniforms raced about, checking the blue screens on each individual tank. It was quite the operation.”
For a moment Spurious thought of his father who had worked in a similar facility, long after the State assumed operations from the private company that controlled the Biomass.
“Do you remember the Tisaian Corporation?” Spurious asked.
Paulo nodded quickly in between bites. “How could I forget? Those bastards were the first to use the hybrid soybean seeds that created Biomass.”
“Those bastards?” Ing interrupted. “The Tisaian Corporation solved the world’s fuel problems practically overnight. Why do you think they named Tisaia after them? They are heroes.”
“And they also sparked WWIII when they did. Heroes don’t create wars. They end them.” Paulo fired back. “Oh that’s right you are too young to remember The Biomass Wars. When nations fought over the rights for the seeds. And you probably wouldn’t remember these seeds can only be grown in fertile top soil—top soil found in only a few locations after 21st century farming destroyed most of it.”
Spurious interrupted the brewing argument with a cough. “You guys. Stop arguing. It doesn’t matter who created Biomass. All that matters is whether the State can create enough to share it with the outside world.”
“That will never happen, Spurious. I don’t understand why the government wants to hoard the Biomass, but they do.” Paulo mumbled between bites of his cabbage.
Ing laughed. “Well your memory clearly goes back longer than mine, but I’m willing to guess it’s because there isn’t anyone left in the world to share it with.”
Paulo looked up, half way between his next bite. “Then the State has already succeeded in making you believe what they want you to believe.” He glanced over at Spurious for a split second. “Remember, what we’re led to believe is not always the truth.”
“It bothers you that the State denies the existence of other governments?” Spurious asked.
“It doesn’t bother you?” Paulo said, running a hand through his thinning hair.
“Well it’s simply not true, guys. If there’s any government left we would know about it. There would be evidence,” Ing piped in.
Paulo snickered. “Ah, what it would be like to be young and ignorant again,” he said, rising from his seat. “I’ll see you two later. Clearly I’m not going to get through to you today.”
Lunch ended as abruptly as Paulo had lost his promotion. It was becoming a common occurrence. Spurious or Ing would say something that upset him and the next thing they knew he would be headed back to his cube. Today was no different, but for some reason Spurious felt a sense of excitement. Not because he had upset Paulo, but because regardless of who was right, this was truly an exciting time for humanity. If this new Biomass was capable of what he had heard, then perhaps things would begin to change. Perhaps things would go back to the way they were in the old world—the world his father used to tell him stories about.
Time: 7:18 p.m. January 19, 2071
Location: Commons Building 21, Apt 44. Lunia, Tisaia
A freezing rain punished Spurious as he rushed down the cobblestone walkway towards his housing complex. The silhouettes of destroyed skyscrapers towered above in the distance, appearing oblique in the darkness. They were now nothing more than artifacts from the past, like the pyramids he had read about as a child.
He pulled his eyes away from the eerie structures, tugging his hood over his head to cover his chapped face, protecting his eyes from the cold, unforgiving wind and rain. A row of street lights glowed within the protection of their glass cases, illuminating the archaic brick walkway below. A strained power line whined in the wind as it carried the Biomass life source to the commons buildings, like blood through a vein.
Spurious continued down the path, nuzzling his face into the collar of his coat. He had taken the six o’clock underground trolley home tonight, opting from walking the near five miles from his office to his apartment due to the freezing rain. He clutched the copper railing tightly, the metal stained green like the rooftop above. A radiant orange glow from several lights guided him to the fourth floor, where he pulled open a massive oak door revealing a hallway lined with blood red doors. His apartment was at the far end, the last door on the right. He slugged down the creaky wooden floor and inserted his key into the lock with a mechanical click.
Dwarfed by the skyscrapers in the distance, the commons buildings were small and cramped for large families. The architecture was late 20th century, defined by pointed arc windows, steep gables, and stone veneer. Before the Biomass Wars, they were used to house distinguished politicians who traveled to the capitol city once a year for a three month legislative session. After the war ended, the common buildings had been rebuilt on a massive scale to house all State workers. It was one of the few perks these workers shared. The citizens living outside Lunia enjoyed far less luxury, often squatting in the metal intestines of destroyed skyscrapers, or congregating in stone buildings constructed hastily in Rohania.
Inside the apartment Spurious was greeted with the familiar sound of Anya’s voice. She was the artificial intelligence his flat was equipped with.
“Good evening, sir, what can I do for you?” she asked.
While Anya was nothing more than a hologram appearing on a stand in each corner of the square room he called home, she had the capability of fixing him dinner, turning on his favorite program on the blue screen, regulating the water temperature in his rain room and explaining any new laws the legislature passed.
Spurious set his bag down on the ground. “Would you warm up a cup of tea for me please?” he replied.
“Certainly sir. Is there anything else?”
“Any news about the new Biomass factory?” he asked.
Anya’s image jumped from one stand to another as he walked through his small apartment towards the kitchen.
“No news yet, but let me check the mainframe. Give me 31 seconds.”
Spurious smiled, grabbing a full mug of warm tea from the automatic food processing counter. He admired her attention to detail, something programmed into her years ago. She was connected to the same system as all the other AI’s and held considerable power. Her intelligence was remarkable. She was the ultimate multi-tasking machine. In a millisecond she could be warming up his tea while combing through a massive database of information. It was, in a way, frightening to Spurious. On the one hand she catered to his every nee
d, but if he broke any State law she could report him through the system immediately, prompting a visit from a Royal Knight.
The thought sent a chill up his spine as he made his way to the loft nestled against the east wall of the apartment. Beneath the bed was a leather couch with a perfect view of the blue screen protruding out of the wooden floor in the center of the apartment. He sat the mug down on a table and headed for the marble rain room jutting out of the north wall of the room.
“How was your day, Anya?” Spurious asked, running his hand through his wet hair.
“It was the same as any other day; I downloaded new updates from the State system and read the latest legislation up for debate at the Capitol building. Shall I prepare the rain room for you?”
“I’d appreciate that very much, Anya, please set at 88 degrees. And while you’re at it, why don’t you describe some of the interesting pieces of legislation to me. What type of laws are they going to impose on us this session?”
“Sir your tone would not be looked upon positively by Council of Royal Knights. I think you should…”
Spurious quickly interrupted her. “You aren’t going to contact them, are you?” Spurious asked sarcastically, as he walked towards his rain room, still shaking from the cold.
“As you know, my loyalties are first and foremost to the State, but as you may know I’m programmed to keep you happy, clean and well fed. A quandary, isn’t it? So technically it would go against the purpose of my very existence to turn you in to the CRK.”
“And don’t ever forget that, Anya,” Spurious said, smiling, as he stripped out of his work clothes and entered the rain room.
He crouched and sat on the marble floor, resting his back on one of the stone walls. The warm liquid poured down his dark hair, matting it to his head as steam rose around him. Instant relief rushed through his body as he finally began to warm up. His feet tingled as the blood rushed back into his toes. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep as the water massaged his anxiety-riddled body.
The Biomass Revolution ttc-1 Page 2
