Digging Up the Past

((Here's my second story....and unlike my last one, this one is actually FINISHED :) I hope you guys enjoy it! Anybody in the Council of Truth should enjoy it too :) ))

.....It's been awhile. Months, hasn't it? Months...of what I'd longed for - the chance to forget my troubles, the opportunity to put things behind me. To simply live, and have no regrets. But that isn't it, is it? I have regrets....There are things I still wish I hadn't done, things I lament. There's still the future laid out ahead of me...black and white fading to color fading to sepia as concept comes to fruition, fruition comes to age. The world moves past me, and all of the horrible events of the year before were nothing but a sepia-toned smear in my cortex.

Faded, distorted, fuzzy, but still none the less horrible....I've come out on the other end with scars; physical bits and pieces of the past still in full color, written on my face and etched into my eyes, which themselves were one such scar. I hadn't gotten away from that virus, that damned Biomare virus, without a reminder that at least some of me wasn't quite human anymore. I try not to tell anybody, but some of those nightmares still keep me up at night.

Just when I think everything is at its most peaceful...I can feel it again. The sensation of being outdoors, the warm notum breeze wafting about me, only I see it through different eyes. The same eyes of the creatures I'd killed so many times it has lost meaning. Distorted and warped flesh, milling about the plains with no life, no purpose, only hunger and longing for a life that was impossible to relive. And then someone came along to end it. But who cares when a mutant dies? To the rest of the world, it's good riddance...

Maybe to the mutants though it is relief. Maybe to them it's a hard slap in their warped faces that they just are no longer part of anything; simply biological refuse. That's how Omni-Tek thinks of them, isn't it? Biological refuse...nothing but living heaps of garbage.

But I'd avoided that fate....Regardless of what my dreams tell me, I am Opifex. I am still me....And should that virus ever reappear, I have the chemical equivalent of a viral holocaust safely snug inside a test tube beside my bed, right by the fragment of claw in that antiseptic jar that Dr. Duvall had returned to me. It was pulled out of MY leg, after all...Funny how much trouble a little claw can cause.

I suppose I'm lucky...I get into the worst of situations, in so much deeper than any living man ever had the right to be, and yet here I am...slumped over a desk, in an office of the Council of Truth Tower, looking out over the golden sandstone maze of Tir. Tir, even with a man like Silverstone at the nerve center of it all, is still a beautiful city...

Beautiful, but dead. Throughout the city, it feels as if there is a curfew, or a military occupation; which technically, there is. Silverstone is about as military as the Clans get, and his hold on this city is absolute. I wonder if he sees what damage his occupation is causing? Children run about the streets with little to no schooling. Litter is dragged along the sandstone streets with nobody, not even a cleanerbot to remove it. Homes and businesses are ramshackle and choked by the Sentinels, their ethic being that nothing matters as much as defense.

The Council has looked into these problems...And we want badly to help ease them. We want to give the children an education, we want to clean the streets, and turn Tir into the city that really should represent the Clans. But every time we go to do something that would benefit the people...the war rears its ugly head.

The damned war....I get the feeling I'm not the only one tired of it. I know that, at least at the moment it is mostly a cold war...A thawing cold war....But even so, men like Silverstone put it ahead of all else. Sometimes he is justified...Most of the time, he hinders the progress of what this planet needs the most; a lasting peace. But there's just too much hatred....this whole world seethes with it. Everybody hates something or someone....And nobody seems to fear dying. In the past, the one thing that had prevented war more than any other thing was the fear of death. But what do we have to fear here? Death hurts...it leaves you with a knot in your stomach and a knowledge that at the end of that tunnel of light there is another life, as if you had never been harmed. You feel sick, queasy, and faint...but you're alive. What's there to be afraid of? Without fear of death...let alone death itself....destiny looks something like an urobolos chain; a snake eating its own tail. Forever.

I never knew what I was getting into....just coming here. It's one of my many regrets I feel as I stare out the window at Tir...and in the corner of my mind, I can see a war. Explosions on the horizon blooming pillars of smoke and dust...Gunfire flashing and arcing across the distance. Chunks of Tir missing or shattered from some sort of orbital bomb....and then those white monsters. Those mechanized, automated killing machines the size of a building. Omni-AF Juggernauts, stampeding like some terrible parade toward the gold city....

But all I need to do is blink, and time rewinds. Tir is fine...There is no marauding Omni-Tek army, no Juggernauts, no explosions or smoke...But then, how long is it going to be that way? Fighting is already breaking out every day over those notum mines, and on occasion I can hear the echo of a control tower erupting into flame, somewhere far enough away that I can't see it.

We all live with it, and we all know it...the sensitive nature of this planet. It's a powder keg in the truest sense of the phrase, and all we need to set it off is a man like Silverstone, the man off in the distance from the window. Or a man like that Sergeyich...Or any other nutjob on this planet stupid enough to incite war. And there's a lot of them...

I spin away from the window though, taking in the room around me...The Council of Truth building, since it was constructed, was designed with offices in mind. Corporate design I know, and seeing an office in the middle of a rebel city is admittedly an odd sight. But ever since the fall of the last Council, these rooms had been shut away, lost and forgotten...

The stairwell leading here was covered in dust and debris, the ceiling and walls cracking apart...The offices themselves hadn't fared much better. Chairs lie on their sides, matted with dust, the fabric coating the seats partially eaten away by insects or whatever else managed to get up in here. Maybe leets, or rollerrats? I know we did have a bit of a vermin problem, with the waterway beneath the Tower used to feed the reflecting pool in the center of the meeting hall.

The basic design of all of these small rooms was intact...Down to the desks, the metal they were built of rusted and hardly usable. Some of them had open drawers, old and cracked datapads inside that stopped working years ago. It was only four years ago that all this happened...There were rumors of a coup from what I remember hearing....though at the time, I wasn't a clansman. Four years ago, I was inside the belly of the beast, working for Omni-Tek...

I remembered hearing about the chess game Radiman had played with Ross....the symbolic nature of that game, the microcosm of Rubi-Ka it suggested. Though at the time, what did it matter to me? I'd never even seen a clanner...I worked for Omni-Trans, and was one of their lowly scouts...Though really, all we did was secure transit lines. Small machines, cleanerbots, were deployed into those areas...and my job was only to ensure that the cleanerbots weren't destroyed or jammed. Needless to say, it was depressing to have moved billions upon billions of miles away, from Earth, to make sure that cleanerdroids didn't malfunction.

Thankfully I'd gotten away from that life....But this life, on the inside, isn't much better....Funny how a guy can say that when he is living comfortably. Beautiful living space in Jobe, a good job with good pay...And yet he's still a wreck. I try and hide it as much as I can and....for the most part I'm doing a good job I guess. Most people think I'm alright...It's not that I'm better, it's just that I know how to hide it now. I still live with guilt...I still feel the urge to look away anytime someone makes eye contact with me...I still feel the urge to head to a bar some nights and drink myself into a stupor, even though I never do. The only real difference now, and the reason I can hide things from the rest of the world....is that I have the time to do it.

But enough of that now. All that I see in front of me now is the remains of my predecessors...the remains of the old Council. Stepping out into the hallway that runs the circumference of the Tower Spire, I can see things that they'd left behind - old bulletin boards that hung cocked to their sides, small pins holding up sheets of dead holopaper. Whatever messages might have been there years back, it was impossible to read them now. There were offices all along the walls, placards mounted beside the doors that told of who once occupied the offices. But the actual nameplates had been removed on most of them. Some of the nameplates had remained...but I didn't recognize any of the names. Their offices were all in disarray just like the one I'd first looked into. Some even had calendars, from 29476, hanging on the walls, images of Tir the way it used to be before Simon took control...

It was all hard to make out though. In this section of the Tower, this forgotten section, there were no lights. My only lighting came from the suns that shone brilliantly through the windows...The light tan stucco of the walls helped a certain degree too, even though much of it was covered in cobwebs. I thought I remembered hearing, maybe two years ago or so....that the Tower was being redecorated and restored. I suppose that was true for the lower section, the meeting hall. But up here...they must've forgotten it. Everything here was left exactly as it was four years ago, which to me suggests that the old Council had left in a huge hurry. Left, and completely disappeared...

I couldn't help but wonder if, maybe, we were going to go through the same thing? The pressure on the current Council is already beginning to grow...Even at the most recent Council session we had discussed with Simon the fact that we as a whole need to watch out for our own interests, and not let ourselves be shoved by the other side...He seemed pleased, but then...Humbold didn't. Xeavier Humbold...He's the man in charge of New Dawn, and honestly a respectable and good man from what I can tell. But I'd never seen him as upset as he was at the recent Council session...I'd wanted to go and talk with him, maybe try and reassure him that nobody there wanted a war, but before I knew it he was gone.

What was on his mind? Was it that we really had done the wrong thing..? The thought is still bothering me...Even as I turn over the relics that fill the Old Council offices, it's on my mind. I'm not a warmonger....War is the last thing I, or many of the other Councilmen want. At the same time though, we know that in order to keep ourselves stable and credible, a certain amount of effort must be put into making sure that nobody bullies us around, forces us to accept what those before us never would. It's one of the fallacies of the Old Council; that nobody there could ever agree on a way to do just that.

At the same time that we need to watch out for our own interests and keep things running smooth north of the border, we need to make sure there isn't so much friction between us and Omni-Tek. And that, nowadays, is impossible with the state of notum mining. It isn't only the mining though....some of us at the meeting learned that not long ago a group of Clansman had broken into Omni-1 HQ and wreaked havoc. At the time, I guess I was glad to have heard a Clan operation go well...gave me a queasy feeling inside though, having Humbold stand up and remind us of the repercussions...of which there surely would be.

I was jerked away from the cesspool of thought by a noise; from behind me! Experience has taught me to bring my rifle along wherever I went; and that included here. I wasted no time in grabbing the sleek spiritech rifle from off of my back, shoving it out at whatever it was that made the noise...Which by now had quieted into a scratching...a pattering...A light, mounted inside the scope of the rifle flickered to life, right at the doorway I'd heard the noise come from...And from out of the doorway, a little stubby thing stumbled out, covered from head to furry toe in thick dust. "Pwned!" It just stared at me with its big eyes, the glint of my flashlight giving it a ghost-like appearance....but it was only a leet! "Only one of you little guys?" I chuckled to myself at the sight, letting my rifle down. I walked over to the small, pudgy thing, leaning down to cup it into my hands. He was warm but dusty alright, maybe fidgiting around inside one of the desks. As I grabbed him, he shook his fat little head maddeningly from side to side, a thick cloud of dust erupting from his body. He sneezed, and I followed suit. "Dusty little thing, eh..? How'd you get in here..?" I just looked close at him...And for a leet in a dusty relic like this place, he had to be the fattest leet I'd ever seen. His whole body wiggled as I stood back up, and he just cocked his head at me. And bit me.

I don't think I'd ever dropped something so fast in my life, the leet plopping to the ground in a jiggling mass, motoring off on those stubby legs as fast as he possibly could away from me, into one of the offices I hadn't been into...I stared blankly at the bite on my hand though...seeing how its teeth had even managed to punch through the soft fabric of the Dust Brigade glove I'd been wearing, blood dripping at a steady pace onto the cold and dark floor...I'd suffered worse. Standing up, I made my way towards the office I'd seen the leet run into...hearing a soft squeaking, and a rustling coming from in there.

Peering into the office door...I saw nothing aside from old office furniture, and a framed picture on the wall, coated in dust but not enough to hide the photograph of several of the men of the Old Council standing proudly with Truth Tower looming behind them. I couldn't pick out any detail though....the photograph blurred and even beginning to warp from exposure to moisture. Clan didn't have access to the environmental control of their buildings that Omni-Tek no doubt had...But the picture hanging on the wall wasn't what caught my attention the most. It was the rustling and the squeaking that piped up from beneath a dirty desk, one that was missing all of its drawers. Pulling my rifle out, flipping the mounted light on...What I saw put a smile on my face, and not just that half-hearted one I usually find myself giving people. The fat leet that had bitten me was cuddled up with two others...an equally fat leet the same size as him, her fur much deeper brown in color, and the other one was so young he hadn't even grown his fur yet, nor could he walk. They were all lying on a patchwork of old, tattered bronto burger wrappers. In the corner against the wall there was a small pile of what looked like food...discarded pieces of Bronto Burgers, nibbled-on leaves of lettuce, half-rotted tomatoes...even pieces of food I knew I'd seen before from Mongol Meats that looked more recent.

I crouched down onto a knee...setting my rifle on the ground, but the leet family only cowered from me. The father, that fat leet that had bitten me, stood defiantly in front of his family...But just when I expected him to run full tilt at me, he turned around to quickly grab up the tiny, baby leet in his mouth, and before I knew it the entire leet family was out the door, out of sight. I...hadn't meant to scare them away. Of course they couldn't stay in the Tower if I was going to get myself to maybe clean this place up and actually put it to good use...But where would they go?

There were plenty of places I suppose...Tir was a maze of corridors, hallways, sidestreets, and alleys.. According to Simon one time when I spoke with him, it was just the way he wanted it; it gave tactical advantage to have a confusing maze of a city, in which he knew the streets when the enemy didn't. But in typical Silverstone fashion, he never gave one hint of thought as to what would happen to the residents if war broke out in such tight confines.

I just shook my head though, my hair gathering in a mess down in front of me as I picked myself up....looking around the rest of the room. What other kinds of things might be in here..? The picture hanging on the wall was one such treasure. But there had to have been others....right? I stepped out of the room and back into that hallway....heading down further, towards the largest office I could find. Probably twice as big as the others, and tucked away in a corner where a brilliant and awe-inspiring view of Tir could be had...was the former office of Henry Radiman. I didn't need any nameplate to tell me this, the room seemed so much like something the man would work in. Very simple, very humble, just like the man himself....In a corner of the room sat a piece of equipment he'd most certainly used on more than one occasion, a projection chair. It wasn't very complicated sure...but it allowed a person's image to be directed to another place...perhaps maybe to play chess with a certain someone....

It was history I was looking at....and for a guy like me, it was certainly humbling. At one time, in that very chair a lasting peace was close to being final. It would have been, were it not for the explosion in Omni-1, which leveled that apartment complex. And then all talks fell silent...The chess game was never finished. I ran my gloved hand, the one that wasn't bleeding, over the smooth contours of the chair...in my mind seeing Radiman sitting there, having conversation with the once-CEO of Omni-Tek Rubi-Ka. Both leaders were now out of commission...Ross lying in a coma from that disease....And Radiman was....I don't even know where he is, I haven't seen him in half a year. I hope he is doing well...

I turned away from the chair, seeing the rest of the barren room before me. There was little left here...Radiman's desk and his chair were still here, lying in dust, but everything else was gone. I suppose of all the things you could say about him, you could also say he was sentimental....Probably having taken all the pictures, the memories, back home with him. I don't blame him....Being a member of the Council of Truth is a memorable thing. It isn't often that ordinary folk like us get to mingle with those who define our time on this world....but we get our chance every single time we convene. Even spending time with a man like Silverstone has its moments where you feel as if you're living alongside history. But maybe I'm giving him too much credit?

As I looked on at Radiman's office...seeing the space in which the titan of the Clans once worked, once lived....I thought to myself that if I was ever going to put these offices back into the shape they had been in once new....the only one I wouldn't touch would be this room. It was just too important....and of all the other members of the Old Council, the only one I knew to still be alive and well was him. Maybe someday he might rejoin us...more than likely not, but at least he'd have a warm welcome as long as I have any say in it.

I left that room, hearing the door silently whoosh itself closed behind me....At least the door worked. Everything else here just....put shame to the history that took place inside this building. And there was so much history here....From small things, such as that photograph hanging in the office where the leets were. Councilmen united together on a sunny afternoon for a group photo...to things like that chair in Radiman's office.

I stepped forward, away from the office, and felt something tap against my boot, disrupting whatever train of thought I was in. It was small...and it clacked against the opposite wall of the hallway...rolling back slowly towards me. I bent down...and picked it up. And in the dimming sunlight, I could see what it was...Coated in dust, a cobweb hanging from the bottom of it, dirt dug up into the tiny cracks on its intricate surface....it was a pawn from a chessboard.

A...pawn? From...Radiman's office? It...had to be. Why would I be the one to....to find something like this? I turned the small piece over in my gloved hand...gently wiping the dust and the cobwebs away from it...delicately. All I could think, staring at the small chess piece, was how...undeserving....that I really was. I'm not from this world....I...had little personal stake in it. But it still meant something to me, looking at this piece, thinking about how much it represented...both now, and four years ago. It meant something to an awful lot of people....meant something to an entire world full of people. Even if I'm not from this world....my origins are rooted here. My grandparents were born here...and they as much as anybody else on this rock would find special meaning in something as simple as a piece from a board game.

I very gently slid the pawn into my knapsack....Where it would be kept safe. Maybe...it would even be a good luck charm. I leaned up against the wall with a sigh....closing my eyes. I'd need to tell the others about this...right? There's no way I could bring all this back to its former glory all by myself...I'd only looked into a few offices, and there were still many more to go, all in a ring around the upper tower. Enough maybe for most, if not all, of the people who acted as representatives here.

It was only by chance that I found this place, while looking around in the main hall of the Tower....the door that had been sealed off, shut away, meant to be forgotten. And all it took was a lockpick to get in. Maybe in a few days, after I'd gotten some things together....I'll tell the others. Get us up here, maybe to fix things up, and make this Council shine like it was the day it formed.

If I'm going to be stuck on this planet....then at least let me make something of it. Life's handed me one enormous lemon...and as as I look around at the Tower, at the work that lay ahead of us, at the war that loomed on the horizon, at the aliens....I was going to make one hell of a glass of lemonade out of it all. And not alone, either.

~END~

((Wow. Great story Nulion.))

((Awesome read Nulion! Nicely done. I think Im inspired...yea...))

((Thank you guys :D I love comments, it's like writing fuel!))

jezus not only RK1 ppl can write long posts :P

((Yes, very nice reading:) ))

((Thank you for a most enjoyable read.))

* smiles* softly * dont feel that all our lives here are a what you call it a lemon.
there many goods things come out of it too.



(( very very good story * smiles* ))

...Thanks Vah. Someday, I hope I run into a few of those things.

(( :) ))