Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

  “Sanitization is complete …” the Lev-basin sounded, as it unlocked and retreated into its former position. Beaver let out an agitated sigh because he knew what was going to happen next.

  “Did you sanitize yet?” the bad ceil-bot demanded.

  “Yes!” Beaver shouted. He wanted nothing more than to slap the thing silly and take it apart piece by piece.

  “Good! Now get to work, and watch your tone Mister!” it said with an outstretched mechanized finger.

  Beaver in his sluggish state could only roll his eyes and stomp off like a perturbed seven year old. As he walked up the hallway, he could catch a faint whiff of something he really didn’t like.

  “Granfibrous …” he said to himself with a frown.

  “Goodlight to you Beaver2416 … here is your lightfast before your work--SdotG.” The victual android said.

  “Thank you Viki, SdotG.” Beaver grumbled, now with a greater sense of consciousness.

  “There is also synth-fee … hopely to licking.” The android said, pointing at the small cup of fake coffee.

  Synth-fee was a coffee substitute (because coffee beans are extinct, if you were paying attention) created by the Academy scientists. Those few elders, who knew was real coffee tasted like, compare the substitute to the flavorings of dry roasted peanuts with a hint of chalky antacids. Beaver drank it just the same.

  “Thank you again, Viki.” he said as he took his place on the uncomfortable stool. The bowl of Granfibrous served before him was detestable yet edible. Granfibrous is a mishmash of synthetic wheat and flaxseed coupled with an edible paste used in neo-leather production. It is always served hot and soaking in reconstituted coconut milk, to keep it from sticking to the roof of your mouth.

  This grub of the lowest form was a part of Acad-rations that are issued to the foot troops. Usually, the rest of the population received them when their surplus was on the verge of spoilage.

  Beaver had about half a proc to eat the rest of his bland meal and snag the next transport to Perpetua. He made it a point to always meet up with Timmy2845 to ride together to work. They would never say much however, because far too many ears were listening. There were much more riders in the light than at darktime. This was because almost everyone in Westbrook was regimented by the Academy to rise and leave at the same time on non-decision days. Still, regardless of conversation or the lack there of, he wanted to be by his friend. It gave him comfort that, in such wickedness surrounding him, they was still a glimmer with Tim of the freedom that once was.

  Having friends and the uninhibited right of conversation resembled something like a legendary fairy tale, deep within the chasms of the Archive of Fact. To think out loud, and those thoughts (no matter if they are offensive or accepted) becoming uttered words and phrases, without retaliation or threat of punishment, seemed to Beaver like one of the greatest freedoms that could ever be. He wondered if ever there was a time that this freedom of words and thoughts existed. And if it did, what idiotic thing could have been that would make them surrender such a right. Truly in Beaver’s mind, that would be ranked as one of the largest tragedies of history that could ever be.

  As the moments ticted away, he soon dismissed such notions and began thinking about the light ahead. Other than his workjob of hurting people, he had certain duties that would arise from time to time. Since the cycle of promotion and production was almost over this span, he greatly sighed; pondering if he would have any extra-curricular duties awaiting for him at Perpetua. With each droll bite of his detestable meal, he became sicker inside. One thing that he hated just as much as the Academy and the G.M. was the other part of his workjob. He thought that maybe today, he would escape unscathed.

  Probably not–Beaver thought as he rolled his eyes.

  He almost had his lightfast consumed; then it started. As if it were a mid-ancient bugle call, Academicis meis, mi Adoráte resonated once again throughout Westbrook. Beaver stood up and raised his hands in salutation to the boring pictures on the progscreen as the victual android did the same. As always, the Great Master then appeared to give his lightmorn time address.

  “Good light to you all, my faithful …” he blustered with an echoed tone. He of course had the same regalia as yesterday.

  Wouldn’t a king get sick of wearing the same thing every day?--Beaver quickly thought with a sarcastic mental attitude.

  As he barked out the need for everyone giving it there all; All Beaver could think about was finding Timmy in the crowd and going to his workjob. Beaver hated his Hachiman position at Perpetua, but he hated hearing the voice of the dreary and monotonous G.M. even more. The reverberation of his talk always made Beaver sickened inside. His droll ramblings were to him like the screeching of the transports leading to Tom Bossley. Every turn they make is followed by an ear-piercing squeal, because of their massive weight and armoring. Luckily for him, with a few minor interjections the Great Master had come quickly to his closing tagline.

  Beaver almost uttered out loud the word “Finally!” but, he pursed his lips tightly to restrain himself.

  As the progscreen faded, Beaver and Viki stated in unison “SdotG.” Beaver said this motto of his captors with enthusiasm. He did so, not because of any sort of piety; but because he wanted to get out and to the transport as quickly as possible. Beaver reluctantly returned to the last scraps of his lightfast. With several quick digs into his bowl, the destable meal was fully consumed. He had to because he if would leave without finishing, there would be some sort of punishment waiting for him at Perpetua.

  “Thank you Viki, it was great!” Beaver said, signifying that he was done. Then without any warning, Beaver seemingly leapt forth out of his house. He bounded past the threshold of his domicile, like a captured deer-dog being set loose in the marshlands. He felt free, if even but for a moment. He made it a point to do the same, every light after the G.M.’s lightmorn address. It was his daily act of hidden rebellion against the Academy. And like a flightless bird, he went from the euphoria of flighted freedom to the suffering of captivity; as his feet touched the pathway below.

  “Come on … before we’re late!” Timmy2845 barked in front of Beaver’s domicile.

  Beaver righted himself and followed the stream of foot traffic towards the transports.

  “I almost left you! I want to be as early as possible today … they are bringing in a new shipment, and I don’t want those worthless heathens destroying everything!” Timmy bellowed with his usual boisterousness, as they walked together.

  Beaver could only shake his head and roll his eyes.

  When they broke the horizon, it revealed the transport station before them. It was already overrun with passengers, all scrambling to make entry. It was always this way, after Decision day. The reason was; this was the day that the Elites would show up at every workjob and pretend to act like bosses. It was the one day of the most lashes, beatings, and infusions among the populous. Being late for work on this day even for a tict, was almost the same as instant death.

  The duo stood idly by as the flood of people slowly thinned.

  “There’s a seat for us … come on!” Timmy whooped, pointing towards an empty place on the back of one of the transports.

  The pair bustled and shoved until they had claimed their spot.

  “Made it …” Beaver quipped as they sat looking at all of the others, still standing in the trackstreet. Other than the Elites Only Quadra-levs and Lev-cycles, this was the only form of transportation for the commoners between the prefectures of New Judah. To try to walk on foot would be suicide, because of the bouncers that stood at each tube-like borderway. They were programmed to destroy anyone who gets within 25 duo-yards of the entrance, who is not on a transport, or other form of Acad-approved transportation. The Academy did this on purpose to prevent any sort of mass, congregated uprisings among the people. This idea was also adopted by the Academy, from the ideologies of the mid-ancient past. They once called it segregation. The only exception to this heavy surveil
lance was on Decision days, when the Bouncers are put to sleep, and the Elites are more concerned with imbibing and Cumal, than monitoring everyone. However, regardless of any Decision day; you still had to use the transports, because the borderways are also electrified.

  As they sat in quiet solitude, the transport kept its daily rhythm of stopping and starting, moving ever closer to Tim and Beaver’s unwanted destination. The riding the overcrowded transport after the day’s break from work, was almost always too much for Beaver. Something that Beaver hated, just as much as the G.M.; was crowds of people, especially in enclosed spaces. They always made him very uneasy, sometimes to the point of panic. This was partly due to the fact of his span of torture at the reformer’s camp. As well as, watching his family die at a very young age. But, the other part was his logical fear that he had developed, from all of the spans of watching the Academy do whatsoever they wanted, without any form of repentance. Crowds increased the odds of Academy spies and other Elitist scum, looking for excuses to kill people. This was the main reason Beaver and Tim usually said next-to-nothing in the light to each other.

  “It will be OK … we’re almost there.” Timmy softly spoke to Beaver, like a brother trying to calm down his frightened sibling.

  “Thank you.” Beaver quietly said, in nervous agitation.

  They had already passed through New Dresden and Stowelowly on their trek towards work, and were now slowly descending into the Arcade. Again, their gaze was cast upon the crumbling Arena.

  “Heathen …” Tim whispered.

  “Yes … Heathen.” Beaver equally whispered the same.

  They did not dare make a strong outburst on the crowded transport. After work, was always more relaxed, with less people and a very slim chance for Academy spies. But in the light, a loud sound of any kind could cause chaos or even death.

  Soon, it was time for Timmy2845 to leave for his drudgery as a propagator. His exit was always one stop before Beaver’s.

  “It’s about that time …” Timmy said with a frown, “Hopefully, I won’t have any trouble out of them.” Beaver knew the “them” that Tim was referring to. It was the bumbling crew of witless degenerates that he supervised.

  “Yes … hopefully so.” Beaver softly told as the transport warbled to a stop.

  Timmy slowly rose and stepped on to the trackstreet below. “Well … I’ll see you later.” he said with a raised hand.

  Beaver equally raised his in salutation. “See you …”

  As the transport began to pull away, something made Beaver feel a bit uneasy. He had this feeling every time, as he departed each light. He would usually dismiss it as the Granfibrous that he had for lightfast. However, today seemed a little more distressing than usual … why he really didn’t know.

  The moments ticked by and in a seeming instant, Beaver could see the Perpetua Motors building in the distance. The transport warbled to a stop as the robotic voice emitted “Last stop--Bona Fide. Please exit promptly.” This was always the last stop before the transport would follow a roundabout, and go back to the underground parkstop in Westbrook. The area was named such an ancient legal term, because not far from Perpetua was the Catholic Parliament and all its sadistic glory. Beaver hated the place with a passion. Because, no matter the crime (or lack thereof) entry into its halls; always meant the macabre for some downtrodden soul.

  The Screen could be seen clearly just beyond the Perpetua motors building, because this was literally the West end of New Judah. Beaver would use it frequently to his advantage by throwing people into it, which were not meeting work demands. It would give them a good dramatic jolt, but Beaver knew that it was relatively harmless. It made him sick inside how the Elites would laugh and mock the people, every time he would give them a toss into the screen. They thought it was hilarious; a cause for hand clapping and smiles. However, his sociopathy prevented him from showing any sort of outward disgust. Usually, this would satisfy the Elites enough that they would pass on to other matters. But sometimes, just an Elite’s bad mood or a glimmer of something they didn’t really like, would cause them to be maimed by an android, or tried at Parliament against the Edict. No matter the trial, they would always lose and with it … their lives.

  “Goodlight to you Beaver2416 … may the blessings of the Great Master be upon you as you enter,” the electron-door greeter said as Beaver passed the large, open threshold entering into the offices of Perpetua. Due to Beaver’s status as a Hachiman, he was authorized to use the Elite’s entrance, as opposed to the grimy turnstile that all of the common workers used. The offices of Perpetua, with its rare marble columns, spiral Lev-cases, ancient architraves, and other saph-glas protected antiquities; reeked of affluence and arrogant high-society. Beaver always hated walking past all of the Elites and listening to their pandering about haughty, high-minded things. He had to though, because his small crag of an office was in the back. Usually, Beaver was not acknowledged with as so much as a wink, as he walked passed their rows of luxury and stuck-up opulence. However, sometimes there would be an occasional salutation, followed by “I need you to…” This light was of no exception.

  “Beaver2416 … Yoo Hoo!” one of the older Elites said with an outstretched hand, waving frantically.

  Deep down, he wanted to break every finger; but Beaver held his peace of course.

  “Yes sir …” Beaver said, as he turned to walk towards the voice. It was one of Mercurial’s advisors, standing with a group of foppish do-nothings.

  “Yes-- Beaver2416 I need you to come to the Overlord’s office at around-- say 13:15. We want to meet with you about some upcoming promotions …” The advisor said with a delicate ease.

  “Yes … of course sir. I will be there.” Beaver said nodding with a level of seriousness. He didn’t have to guess as to whatever it was.

  The advisor’s group stood idly by, waiting for some form of entertainment. It was much like a child, which anticipates the curtain drawing up, to reveal a puppeteer’s mirth and skill behind it. There was still a small level of celebrity attached to Beaver, that he tried at all times to keep hidden. It was obvious that this older group of Elites knew the child star, which he used to be. As well as, they have kept their following of all of the minor advertisements and random interviews that he has done for Perpetua. Beaver, knowing their true agenda; put on an instant fake persona and flashed a beaming smile at the group. He followed up with a wink, as he walked away towards his small office. The group swooned under the spell of Beaver’s celebrity, as they watched him leave. Knowing now, that he was at a safe distance away, all Beaver could do is roll his eyes in disgust.

  “Heathen” he muttered under his breath.

  His small office was something of mockery and jest among the Elites. Before the Great Conflict, most of the Perpetua motors’ building was a factory for janitorial and industrial cleaning supplies. Because of this, Beaver’s office was located where in the former factory; there was a small test lab for mid-ancient products like paper towels and toilet paper. So, among the childish Elites, his office was affectionately known as rear end. And with it, there were constant lame jokes about wiping and scratching one’s posterior when making reference to Beaver’s office. He didn’t mind it though, because this was a cause for most of them to stay away; desiring not to be socially tainted.

  As he entered, the electrical pulses from the screen glimmered through the picture window.

  “12 …” Beaver uttered vocally. Upon sight, he would make a guess as to how many people he would throw into the screen each day.

  “Welcome Beaver2416!” his sect-bot proclaimed. There was no real reason for having a sect-bot (or an office for that matter) but he would greet it just the same.

  “Good light to you … do I have any postscripts?” Beaver asked inquisitively, even though he would never receive any.

  “No postscripts received …” the sect-bot said, as it seemingly went back to android sleep. Beaver equally relaxed and sat quietly in his high-backed Lev-thro
ne. He was only afforded such luxury, because Mercurial had thrown it out for a new model. Beaver was usually the recipient of the office Elite’s expensive hand-me-downs; however he never had much time to bask in their splendor.

  Soon, the progscreen in his quaint office would illuminate and the G.M.’s brief work your all garbage would be the starting bell at Perpetua. In the meantime, he sat looking at all his swag on the walls, as well as the floor. There were trinkets and baubles, as well as paintings and other collectables seemingly everywhere. He knew never to refuse a handout from the Elites, because they would be greatly offended. To the rest of New Judah, this rear end was certainly a place of thousands of GP’s in valuables; a literal museum of discarded treasures. However, to Beaver it was absolutely meaningless. He would always gaze in wonder as to why people would be willing to give their lives for such miscellanea. As he browsed the walls, he thought hard if there was truly anything in this life worth dying for.

  As expected, he sighed and stood to his feet as the progscreen came on with its usual regalia. The sect-bot also awoke and stood to attention, with its arms raise in salute.

  “Good light, my faithful subjects.” The G.M. pandered. He then, gave a brief speech reminiscent of a mid-ancient sport coach, proclaiming win one for the team. Beaver always thought that this address was so stupid and unnecessary. People were going to work or not, regardless of any words from the potentate. He could almost immediately tell every day, when he stepped out on the work floor, just who was going to work and who had given up on existing.

  In many ways, Beaver was a pious minister among the people, in that he was trying to keep them alive and willing to live by harshly motivating them. He didn’t want to see anyone die, tortured, or be maimed for life. Even though he had gross sociopathic tendencies, his workjob truly bothered him on the deeply hidden inside. There were many nights that he laid awake in the sleep chamber, thinking about all the random lives that he played a part in destroying. That is why his primary option was always to threaten and slap them, or give them a toss into the screen. The people would survive a slap or a shock; but not the gangly appendages of the androids, or the blackened halls of the Parliament.