The Biomass Revolution [Nicholas Sansbury Smith] (fb2) читать постранично, страница - 63

fact, I think this is the one I often sat in,” he said, pointing at the chair next to Terro.

“But I digress and unfortunately I have little time today. The legislature is meeting to vote on a new bill this afternoon. Which is why I am here.”

Spurious took a step forward to face the center of the hall, scanning the young faces.

“I’m sure most of you have heard of Bill 199, but for those that haven’t, listen up. I’ve worked out a deal with our newly sworn in Governor to share 25 percent of all Biomass with any surviving communities outside the great walls.”

Applause echoed through the lecture hall, with one student whistling before a peer silenced him with an elbow to the ribs.

Spurious waited for the commotion to die down before continuing. “Governor Susa has assigned Squad 19 of the newly minted Tisaian Knights to explore the Wastelands for survivors of the Biomass Wars. Any refugees will be brought to Tisaia; they’ll be housed, fed and supported until we can find work for them.”

Another round of applause broke the silence and Terro stood, joining the rest of his classmates. It was the first time he’d ever seen Senator Spurious Timur and he wasn’t exactly sure what to think. The man was so young.

“Before I leave I have one request of you. Someday you will be the leaders of Tisaia. When you are, do not forget what Professor Creo has taught you—do not forget the revolution so many died fighting. If you remember anything may it be this…” Spurious took another glance at the empty chair next to Terro. “All governments are prone to corruption. The duty of youth—your duty—is to challenge greed and injustice when it arises, before it morphs into corruption.”

The whine of a tree branch scraping the window followed the Senator’s words. For a few moments the classroom was silent, the students soaking in Spurious’ advice.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter. Terro watched him carefully, thoroughly impressed with his speech. In the past he’d doubted the stories about Spurious’ role in the revolution, but there was something about the man. He had a presence, just like Terro’s own father.

“A little over a year ago I found this note. When I first read it I didn’t know what to think. It said my parents, who died in the revolution, were the founders of the TDU. This was days after I was told I had the ability to shape the future of Tisaia—to restore justice,” he said, his eyes shifting to the floor for a moment.

“Seeing the empty seat next to this young man,” Spurious said, pointing towards Terro, “I am reminded that you are all in the same position as I was. You may not be fighting a revolution, but I can assure you, the world we live in has changed forever and safety will always need to be earned. So I leave you with the same words I was told in the streets of Rohania,” Spurious coughed and placed the note back in his breast pocket before turning back to the silent room.

The young Senator cracked another half-smile and tucked his hands in his pockets. “You’re the future of Tisaia; you’ll shape the path of our country,” he finished.

The room did not erupt into applause. Students did not stand and clap or whistle. They simply watched the Senator place his beret neatly over his hair and walk slowly past their rows and out of the lecture hall. His words continued to echo in their minds, playing on repeat like they had once done in Spurious’ own mind.

A bell sounded, breaking through the stillness like a shotgun blast. Terro stood and packed up his belongings with the rest of the students in silence. They all knew what was at stake for their new government, and they all knew it would take severe sacrifices to keep the cogs of progress turning.

“Terro, do you have a moment before your next class?” said a voice from behind him. A quiver ran down his back when he realized it was Professor Creo.

“Certainly sir,” he said, placing his last book inside his bag.

“You may not know it, but you are, in many ways, much like your father. I served with him for many years and he taught me to fight for freedom, tolerance and equality. He gave his life so your generation could have a better quality of life.”

The student turned to Professor Creo. “Is it true, did my father really help save Tisaia with Senator Spurious?”

“Without his leadership, we would never have destroyed the CRK’s headquarters.”

Terro gripped his book bag tightly. He had heard this many times, but each time it sent chills down his back.

“Senator Spurious was right. You’re the future of Tisaia now, son. You, like your father, will have the opportunity to change things for the good of all Tisaians, but we can save that discussion for a later day,” Professor Creo said, placing his hand on the young student’s back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, professor, have a good night,” Terro said. His voice was precise, controlled, not a hint of nervousness present. He wanted to be like his father, respected and humble.

As Terro walked away he began to suspect there was more to his life than he thought. Like all young men, his dreams were overflowing with ambition. And Professor Creo’s lecture ignited his excitement of the future even more.

The hallway was packed with students heading to their next classes. Some laughed and played, while others remained silent, intent on making their next class on time. Terro was like the second group, concentrating on his way to the Royal Gardens. He often studied there on his breaks between classes, especially when he needed a chance to think.

He remembered being told the center of the gardens used to be home to the first Governor of Tisaia’s statue. It was said to have been removed in the uprising of 1971.

Now the gardens consisted primarily of fountains, and the single monument to his father, Obi Hepe.

It was early September and most of the hibiscus, roses and other perennials were shriveling up and dying, waiting for the spring to re-emerge. The fountains, however, were still alive and spouting clear water into the fall afternoon air.

Terro strolled through the grounds towards the statue, remembering stories he had heard of his father’s time as the leader of Squad 19. They weren’t just stories—they were legends, and they always made him wonder if he too could be a brave leader.

The steady trickle of running water reminded him he was close. He took in a deep breath of the fresh air as the top of his father’s statue came into focus through a row of trees.

He studied the features of the man he had never met; his short cropped hair, thick jaw line, and obsidian black eyes. I wish I could have met you, he thought, reaching out to touch the statue’s stone hand.

When he was younger he never quite understood why his father hid him away as a child, choosing to fight the CRK instead of being a dad. Sure it probably prevented his family from being slaughtered, but growing up Terro was constantly angry, never really forgiving Obi for his decision. It wasn’t until Terro’s first day in Professor Creo’s class he finally realized why his father hid him away so many years ago. Obi choose to fight over being a father so Terro could one day grow up and live in a world where he would be able to be a father. It was the ultimate sacrifice and gift to his separated son.

Suddenly a gust of cold wind bit into his shirt, distracting him from the painful memories. A squadron of dying leaves twirled about the statue. He cocked his head to look at the sky and watched a pair of dense storm clouds moving in over Lunia. The wind began to pick up and a soft drizzle began. Change is coming, he thought, gazing back up at his father’s statue one last time.

If what Senator Spurious had said was right then change would be something his generation would see often. It would be his duty to help stop corruption.

“You’re the future of Tisaia now, son. You’ll have the opportunity to change things for the greater good of all Tisaians.” The words of Professor Creo echoed through his mind one more time before he stood to pay his final respects to his father.

“I’ll serve Tisaia, this is my promise to you,” he whispered, stopping in the middle of the stone path to watch a pair of dark storm clouds creep over Lunia. Taking in one last lungful of the rain scented air, he picked up his bag and headed for the school. “Change is coming indeed.”

* * *

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