“SdotG” the two said in unison. The progscreen went black and almost immediately there was the hum of all the machines and their constant commotion. He grabbed his ambient plugs off his small Lev-desk and rested them on his ears, to stifle the extreme noise levels. Next, he opened a large drawer and put on his neo-leather plat-armoring to protect him from any hand strikes or tool attacks from unruly workers. And finally, hanging on the wall was his weapon of choice. It was a concussive force rod that would knock people to the ground with the power of an oblique shockwave, if needed of course.
“See you later …” Beaver loudly said to the sect-bot, as he walked through a side door towards the main work floor.
“Good bye, Beaver2416 …” the autonomy replied, as it went back to android sleep.
Chapter 5:
The work floor was massive. There was activity buzzing in seemingly every square milli-hectare. Thousands of people were moving with a flow that would rival the greatest of mid-ancient symphonic conductors. Beaver’s section of work was where they assembled the most vital part of Perpetua, the A/R Kinolev drive, A.K.A. the Furlong. This coveted invention is what powers most of the 16 Academy conquered lands, as well as the various mining operations like Tom Bossley. With all its Lev driven transports, Lev powered androids, and playthings; New Judah was of no exception. Other than the G.M. this is hailed as the only good that came out of the chemocides of the Great Conflict.
The technology that powers the A/R kinolev was invented somewhat by accident. After one of the great battles of the Conflict, a scavenger who was looking for anything of value noticed a brightly, glowing mixture in a mud puddle. It was a slurry of all the various volatile chemicals and nuclear isotopes, left behind by the hyper weapons. The glowing mixture was nothing more to the scavenger than a spot of color to avoid stepping in. Then by mere chance, while he was looking about; there was a brief cloud burst of weak acid rain. The tender drops fell into the puddle and the mixture began to erupt violently. It did in so much, that it resembled the horror of a massive geothermal lava flow, destroying everything in its path. This strange person knew enough, that he was witness to a new energy source, and carefully collected as many samples as he could. This mix was later synthesized by the Acad-scientists, and was the pivotal force used in ending the Great Conflict for the side of the Academy. This mere scavenger, then known as Harvey Damron was first hailed as hero, then later exalted as a god. They know him today by another name
--Great Master.
The Elites cared for the Furlong and its technology more than anything, even Cumal. This was quintessentially the Academy’s life-source. Without it, there would be no transportation, no industry, no androids, no sentries, no dunners, and no innovations of wonderment to thrust upon the people. New Judah, along with all of the other lands would be basically be, an ancient uninhibited Wild-West, surrounded by a now inescapable barrier. Without the power of the Kino-lev, as well as all the thousands of inventions that use its technology, the Academy Elites would be at the mercy of the people, and unable to leave the Screen. Beaver always had this fact in the back of his mind, every time he stepped onto the work floor. Of course, he further knew that the technology had a shelf life of at least fifty-three spans, and they had a vast surplus that was heavily guarded and spread over all the sixteen lands.
This light, upon searching his section, he didn’t notice any potential subordinates. It was usually this way after decision day, because people actually had time to rest. Everyone was working steady and in harmony, which left him to daydream. As he stood pacing the floor, all Beaver could think about is 13:15. Ever since his brush with Mercurial, (on the day of benevolence two spans prior) he has always had a great uneasiness any time that he had to grace his presence. Promotions usually meant that he had to do some sort of menial task for Perpetua, such as holoportal some pre-fabricated spiel at a trader’s convention or make some sort of stupid advertisement to be slathered on every progscreen. The idea of marketing was nonsensical to Beaver, because people were going to buy Perpetua regardless. This was merely psychological tactics designed by the Academy, to make people more proud or grateful of something they were basically forced to have in the first place. According to the Archive of Fact, many mid-ancient politicians frequently did the same exact thing.
Because of this constant promotion, with its psychological got-to-have-it tilt, many Selects were hooked and reeled in. For this reason, they would try to keep up with the Elites, with all the various upgraded equipment issued by the Academy. Every Decision day, the only time when commerce is allowed for them; if news had come out about a new upgraded android or other automata, many thousands of Selects would flood into the Arcade. They did so, hoping to be first in line, to snag what was touted as the newest technological breakthrough. Of course, this is already old news to the Elites, and those Elites who wanted it already had it. People would stand ready for what seemed like spans, hoping to receive what was always in limited supply. They all had the singular thought of beating everyone and surrendering thousands of GP’s, in hopes of a new breed of entertainment or better way of doing a task. In many ways, these upgrades were the overwhelming vise of the Selects, while Cumal and synth-liquor was the same exact addiction for the Elites.
Far too many were willing to risk life and limb for a new gimmick-- a new trick that would fuel the lustful flames of the foolhardy Selects. In the last par-span, there had been at least Six hundred fifty deaths caused by human crushes when the appropriate place of commerce would open its gateway. Many Elites would watch from the various overlooks of the Arena (synth-liquor in hand), because to them this was always perceived as a form of amusement or sport. It was especially amusing to them, when people were trampled to death. Beaver would never attend these Decision day events though, because he thought all of this sensationalism for a new product was nonsense. He would usually wait until one of the Elites at Perpetua would throw out one of their playthings because of age or some sort of non-conformity. This way, he got it for free and without risking injury or death for tomorrow’s trash.
In spite of the wares of the Perpetua Corporation, the only real alternative was the crude technology of the non-Academy. And that, of course was considered treasonous and against the Edict; if in fact, you could even find such a thing. The Non-Academy were the hidden, unknown number of rebellious left scattered throughout the un-Screened world. The Elitists, with all their arrogance; have never officially recognized them or their existence. Why is because, to admit such would mean that they were not in complete control of the world. Plus, to them and their arrogance, “… because they do not exist in any of the 16 Academy conquered lands, they do not exist at all.” According to the higher powers, other than the various mining operations; the sixteen lands were the entire world, and you were not to publically think otherwise, unless you wanted to be infused.
Even Beaver and Timmy were not officially hailed as any sort of former non-conformist. According to official Acad-record, they were merely kidnapped as children and taken from their real (Academy issued) parents. Their captors were infused and the children (except for Beaver) had to stay a season at the reformer’s camp. This was for them to be Re-instituted from their captor’s wicked ideologies. Deep in Beaver’s heart, he believed that others still existed. It was logical to him, that if the Academy and his family had survived the Great Conflict, then others had survived as well. Who and how many that were still alive and in hiding, were to Beaver2416 as mid-ancient fairy tales of contemplation to get him by the humdrum workday.
Soon, it was 13:00. He had only given four a toss all light, which made for a very boring time. He knew that it would not be much longer until his ambient plugs would ring with the postscript of “Beaver2416 … please report to O.L.”
O.L. of course, meant Overlord.
This meeting would probably consume the rest of his workday, so he had to reluctantly settle for four. He didn’t like to hurt people, however he equally didn’t like to seem li
ke he was slipping or soft to the Elites. As long as he would continue to show his daily prowess, they would continue to believe that he was a loyal savage. As he pondered upon his weak display, he noticed two who worked at the same station, secretly laughing about something. Fraternization of any kind was not permitted on the work floor, so he quickly grabbed the two by the back of their oversuits and drug them towards a small doorway leading towards the screen. Some of the Elites standing idly by also followed, onto an outdoor mezzanine.
“Fraternization is not permitted!” Beaver yelled, in a gruff tone at the trembling duo. He then flung them forward towards the screen. A shockwave of electricity could be visibly seen pulsating up and down their bodies as they fell to the ground. In contemplation, Beaver quickly re-grabbed the writhing two, and tossed them again towards the screen. The small crowd of Elites that stood by watching began to clap their hands in approval. Beaver could hear many of them saying “double toss!” as if it were a mid-ancient circus stunt or magician’s trick. Beaver spun around, facing the crowd and gave a bow. The Elites clapped more furiously, as he then grabbed the two, and lead them back to the work area. As they walked inside, the Elites stayed outside on the mezzanine. They were now more concerned with the next doling of synth-liquor than violent amusements. At this point, all Beaver could do is roll his eyes in disgust.
After firmly putting the two workers to task, he went back again to his state of contemplation.
“Eight … I can live with that.” Beaver said to himself.
Within a few ticts, as expected, his ambient plugs gave the message to leave. He then gave all the workers a glaring, deviant look as if to say “do your jobs … or I’ll get you.” When he made sure that everyone had seen him and his sinister grimace, he went back through the side door to his office. Upon entry, his sect-bot awoke to give him the same message.
“Welcome Beaver2416! Postscript received--Beaver2416 … please report to O.L.” the android said, in a squeaky tone.
“Thank you,” Beaver returned, even though he had already received the message.
He quickly doffed his ambient plugs and set them on the Lev-desk. He then shed his armoring and put it back into the drawer. After he hung his concussive force rod back on the wall, he did something he always hated to do. Beaver sighed, and moved into position behind the Lev-desk. Then with a child-like grunt, he slammed the Orange button.
Every Lev-desk had an Orange button, and his hand-me-down was of no exception. A panel on top suddenly retracted, and a hat-like appendage appeared to engulf Beaver’s head. A facial appendage also appeared and latched on to his visage. This was the Cosmo-bot, an autonomous makeover device that Beaver hated with a passion. He had to use it though, because meeting with the Overlord was an extremely slippery affair. He fully knew that one wrong move or one misstep to make him dislike his presence could mean torture or death. The robot worked at a frantic pace, whirring and clicking.
“Modeling complete …” the Cosmo-bot squelched as it retracted its appendages, back into the denizens of the Lev-desk. Beaver greatly sighed as he slowly turned to look into a small mirror attached to the wall. His brownish locks were now a solid plat-silver blonde. His hair was now styled in neo-fashion, with it lengthened with lab created hair and parted to one side. His scraggly face was now Las-shaven and his facial pits and wrinkled marks were now filled and smooth. He looked at least twenty spans younger, and Beaver hated every bit of it.
All he could do is sigh and roll his eyes in disgust.
“I’ll see you next light …” Beaver said dejectedly to the Sect-bot, still upset with his new look. The Sect-bot did not answer, because it had already drifted back to its place of hibernation. Beaver held his breath and closed his eyes, as he opened the rear end’s door, leading back into the offices of Perpetua. He had an inner feeling of dread, much like the mid-ancient school display at the Archive of Fact. The diorama depicted a child-filled class room with at least twenty students laughing and pointing their fingers at one shame-filled outcast, with his head tucked in fear on his desk. The sign attached spoke of something called bullying. Whatever this bullying was, to Beaver; he somewhat felt like that one lowly child, every time he pressed the Orange button.
The door swung open wide and almost immediately there were cheers and cat-calls throughout the office. It was a rare look for Beaver2416. He certainly was not obsessed with trends and fashions, like the Elites were. Some of the office dwellers looked shocked to see one so trendy, coming out of the rear end. Others, realizing that it was Beaver2416, knew that he must be going to see Mercurial. This was one of the only times that he would indulge in such frivolity. The thought of becoming like the Elites, with all of their arrogance and avarice made Beaver sick to his stomach. He of course, did not show it on the surface as he smiled and greeted each enthralled Elite who could not stop staring.
Mercurial’s office was in the far right, rear corner of the massive annex. (Beaver’s was in the far left, rear corner) He, like the rest of the common workers; was forbidden to enter this area unless they had pre-authorization relayed to their Bio-mark. The area was filled with ancient sculptures on pedestals, hanging art pieces, and rare gemstones surrounded by Saph-glas adorning the walls. And in the center of it all, the pièce de résistance was a working, far ancient mosaic fountain from the Byzantine period that was built by, and originally dwelt in the courts of Justinian I. The fountain was a High Ember Day present from about 10 spans ago. It was to the Overlord from the Great Master himself. He gave it, because production under the new Overlord (named Mercurial) had increased 400%. The Overlord who was before him was brought from his cell and ceremonially infused on the same day, for not increasing enough production. In many ways, Beaver knew that Mercurial was just like him, a lab rat in a maze. If he did not meet enough goals, his head would be on the chopping block regardless of his social status. There was no mercy to be found in the Academy, when it came to their love for the Furlong.
Beaver’s trek through all of the lavish adornments, abruptly came to a startling end.
“Authenticate or apprehension!” a hulking sentry bellowed, in front of the small pathway leading to Mercurial’s office. It was fully armored with Mag-carbon, which would sweep away any form of weapon with its powerful magnetic draw. Hardwired into its left arm was a dunner with at least fifty rounds of ammunition, to instantly eradicate any threat. Into its right however, was a mid-ancient hyper-ballista that could probably destroy all of Perpetua’s offices within five ticts. This form of sentry was very expensive, and was only reserved for the absolute upper-crust of Academy Elites.
Beaver meekly waved his hand at Mercurial’s bodyguard. The sentry immediately beamed an orange hue of light at his open palm.
“Beaver2416 … Hachiman. You are authenticated.” The massive robot said, as it moved aside so he could pass. Beaver nodded as he slowly took the final steps leading to Mercurial’s closed oaken door.
Only the Elites could have closed office doors at Perpetua. Beaver’s side door was the only exception, because of the high noise levels just beyond it. Many times, Beaver would sit in the corner in hidden contemplation, wondering what it would be like to have the luxury of privacy.
Imagine … To think freely without fear of torture or death--or to say whatever you feel, merely because you wanted to—Beaver thought, as he stared at the fancy grain of the door. These ideas truly were the opulent indulgences of Imperators and Kings. They were as the mythical ambrosia or the secret manna, certainly not to be enjoyed by a peon named Beaver2416.
Privacy—what’s that? He continued, sarcastically musing to himself in distain.
Now at the end of his office journey, he took a hard gulp of air and then gently knocked upon the door. Suddenly, the door swung open and he was greeted by the same advisor who flagged him down earlier.
“Oh Beaver2416 … you are going to love what we have in store for this season!” The foppish creature exclaimed, as he grabbed Beaver by the shoulders and
walked him inside Mercurial’s outer office promenade.
Beaver had to greatly restrain himself from punching him square in his pretty face.
As the door closed behind them, his heart seemingly skipped a beat as he seen Mercurial seemingly materialize into view. He was sitting in his Lev-throne in an interior meeting room. Mercurial raised his hand and motioned them in, with a smile on his face. When he moved his hand, Beaver could see the full control panel attached to his Lev-throne. In that moment, he wondered how many sequences of those saf-keys could cause him to die, if they were pressed.
“Come in … Come in …” Mercurial stated with glibness as he arose from his Lev-throne in the large grand meeting room.
Beaver could hardly believe what he was saying.
The Perpetua eminence meeting room, where only the finest Elites are allowed to enter, was filled with priceless paintings from each major period. The massive art collection, derived from masters such as Aristides of Thebes, Raphael, Lichtenstein, and X-Nosic; spanned from fourth century Greek to twenty-fourth century thug, all sealed and fully encased in saph-glas. It was an absolute rarity for most Elites to enter such a hallowed area. It was far much less, for a Select from Westbrook, to have the opportunity to gaze upon such masterworks. Normally, the room is electronically sealed and filled with Nitrogen. But on this light, it seemingly bore for Beaver2416 a would-be miracle. The advisor gleefully trotted ahead of Beaver towards the open gateway. This was obviously to them, the opportunity of a lifetime. It was a chance to say to everyone else, with arrogance and haughtiness; that “I was in the eminence meeting room.”
Suddenly, there was a loud thud, and the eager starlet fell to the floor in pain. Beaver quickly realized that it was merely a holographic image, projected onto the plat-steel gateway. Bellows of laughter ensued, as Mercurial appeared from behind his partially closed, adjacent inner office door.
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