Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

  “Sanitization is complete …” the Lev-basin sounded, as it moved back into its former position. He gently sighed in relief. It seemed like a plat-steel vault slamming shut, hiding its antiquities back into safety.

  Upon his exit the words, “Did you sanitize yet?” pierced Beaver’s head.

  “Yes!” Beaver toned with annoyance.

  “Good! Now get to work, Mister!” it said with a mechanized finger, pointing the way.

  As he walked up the hallway, he could catch a faint whiff of something he liked--“Barley cakes …” he said with a smile.

  “Goodlight to you Beaver2416 … here is your lightfast before your work. SdotG.” The victual android said. It always seemed nicer in the day time than at dark.

  “Thank you Viki, SdotG.” Beaver returned with glibness, thankful to be alive.

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

  “Thank you again, Viki.” he said as he took his everyday place on the uncomfortable stool. As he began eating, the Barley cakes tasted very good for a change. It was far better that the usual bowl of Granfibrous.

  This special lightfast was a shining omen to Beaver. Beaver delighted greatly in eating these cakes and drinking his synth-fee. The reason was not, because he had suddenly forgotten about the infusion of his friend James Matthews or his inner pain and rage. The real reason, was after an event deemed disruptive by the Academy (such as a robbery or a death), the many Academy-run androids were programmed to go into a mode of condolence and consolation. This was another sadistic side to the Academy: To try to seem caring and benevolent, when most (if not all) of the pain and sorrow was caused by you.

  This now consumed lightfast of well-cooked Barley cakes was a pivotal sign to Beaver. It was an indicator that the Academy powers seen what transpired last dark in his domicile, and merely perceived him as an unsuspecting victim, rather than an accomplice. This gave him a surge of new hope that the Academy did not know what truly had happened.

  “Would you like more some?” Viki stated in usual random broken English.

  “No thank you, Viki. It was very good, but I am stuffed full already.” Beaver stated, with his hands on his belly. The android clicked and whirred around to the drawer with the barley wedges.

  “Why thank Beaver2416! … Here is reward.” The droid said as it presented a Barley wedge to Beaver.

  As he slowly lifted his hand to take the wedge, the words stupid android kept echoing in Beaver’s mind. He had to greatly restrain himself from rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief.

  Suddenly, Academicis meis, mi Adoráte played throughout Westbrook. As usual, Beaver stood up and raised his hands in salutation, with Viki doing the same. The G.M. then gave his usual greeting, “Good light to you all … my faithful.” Once again, he gave the same banter of everyone giving it there all. All Beaver could think about in those moments, was Timmy’s death and the antiquity that he died for. He pondered if that dusty enigma truly had the power to destroy the false deity, slathered on the progscreen. With a few maxims, the Great Master had come to his close, and the progscreen blackened once again. Beaver and Viki stated in unison “SdotG” and lowered their arms.

  With a huff, Beaver then shoved the unwanted Barley wedge into his mouth that he had been holding. As he crunched, he wanted to spit it everywhere in protest. However, he once again thought about what sat in solitude behind the Lev-basin.

  If only it could destroy all of this Acad garbage--he mused in agitation, as if the texture of the wedge was made of gravel.

  Soon with a hard gulp, he had consumed everything that was issued him for light-fast. “Thank you Viki, it was great …” Beaver said dejectedly, signifying that he was done as always before. Then, he casually walked out of his house. Today, certainly did not bear any cause for leaping. His sociopathic heart was broken beyond anything that he had ever experienced, throughout his miserable life. His parents and his only friend were now gone. Everything that bore the slightest bit of comfort or security was taken from him by the Academy.

  “Curse this man named Beaver2416! Let him no longer exist!” he muttered under his breath, as he trembled with seething rage. He wanted nothing more than to lose all of his inhibitions and go on a murderous rampage as he glared at the crowd, scrambling to enter the transports. He wanted to kill everyone that he could, and then fall into the blackened void of death. He wanted to be forgotten, and every piece of his existence forgotten as well. Yet, something … some unseen force prevented him.

  As if by automatic pilot, he dismissed his violent thoughts and stepped onto the transport, taking an open seat. In these moments of inner chaos, Beaver once again thought about what stood in silence, behind the Lev-basin. He could only speculate as to what it even was. He hoped that it was some sort of ancient weapon, a technology that the Academy knew nothing about. He wanted something, anything that could be used to break the stronghold that they had over each screen-covered dystopia. These inner thoughts swirled about in Beaver’s head as the transport began chugging towards New Dresden.

  Freedom was something that was truly unheard of. The thought of being a true individual was the ideology of dead in the Academy. Even the Elites with all of their pomp, were still subject to the Edict. To even have a thought of being free was treasonous, and said to be an abomination to the Great Master. Beaver always wondered what an abomination even was. Moreover, Beaver wanted his friend’s death to not be in vain. Whatever this object secretly held, he was going to find out why he was willing to die for it. He had to know what made it so special, even if it meant his own life. If James had gone so far, only to become vapor for something; he had to be willing to do the same for him. Beaver could only consider with closed eyes--what could it be that was worth more than his very existence?

  “Hey! No free-dreamers allowed!” an Acad-trooper barked, as he shoved him with his Carver-pole. A minor jolt of electricity startled Beaver, as his eyes sprung open and greatly widened. He was so preoccupied with inner thought, that he didn’t realize the sentry was sitting right in front of him.

  “Sorry … the … the … ceil-bot was acting up last dark--I need it replaced.” Beaver quickly snapped back, trying to get out of hot bio-fluid. Luckily, the trooper turned around with a grumble, and let it be. Beaver slightly sighed, knowing that he had evaded danger.

  That was dumb. I have to be smarter than that--he thought to himself. The ride was certainly irritating to him. Timmy was the one who usually did all the talking. And, to not hear his non-ending chatter was to Beaver, like a large missing piece in his life. It was as if something vital was gone, and without it he would always be lame, lying in the street begging to each passer-by.

  (Speaking of beggars …) Bobble once again stuck his grimy hand into the transport near Beaver’s face, as it made its stop in Stowelowly. This time he was peddling radiated gimp-straws. The wretched man smelled like usual, with his extended arm wanting GP’s.

  “Where’s your friend eh?” Bobble said with a rare inquisition.

  Without speaking, all Beaver could do is stare incessantly at Bobble, as the transport started moving again. Oddly, Bobble stood still for a moment as if he were worried or shocked, and then started his spiel about Gimp-straws again. This demonstration puzzled Beaver greatly.

  Who was he--to Tim?--he thought, as the transport started up again. As Bobble moved further away, Beaver could only dismiss this casual thought.

  All the way to his work-job, Beaver struggled with hidden emotion. It was usually silent to work, however not having Timmy right beside him was excruciating.

  The old Arena had to bear one more casualty, didn’t it? One more log for the fire--Beaver ravenously derived with a scowl on his face. He did so, as the transport slowly passed by the crumbling Arena. He thought as if Tim had been one of the countless souls murdered inside. Today, he hated the Academy, much more than any other day. To be a Hachiman this light, without
uninhibited and unchained violence, would take every ounce of sheer determination that Beaver could muster.

  Soon, the transport sounded its stop of Bona Fide, right in front of Perpetua. Beaver sighed a great sigh with rolled eyes, as he slowly stood up to exit. For the first time in his life, it was a struggle to keep his torrent of emotions in check. His sociopathic mind had to work in overtime, to keep him from uncovering his hidden feelings. Each step towards the interior of Perpetua felt like waves of acid, burning … trying to dissolve every semblance of what once was. Every nuance of a Westbrookian hachiman was seemingly being erased in a slurry of blackened, rage-filled nothingness. Beaver was losing control. His entire self was shutting down, much like a ragged android that had outlived its usefulness, and sent to be cored and melted. He grabbed his throbbing head that was in pain, ready to lash out with a primal scream of imminent death. Then, like the calmness of the morning mist, a wave of sudden stability engulfed him.

  Tim’s Artifact …

  This was the one unseen factor. Somehow, just the thought of its existence brought a sense of firmness to his instability. Whatever it was, it gave him a Raison d'être--a reason for existence. In that moment, the item behind the Lev-basin suddenly caused a yearning in Beaver’s heart. He wanted to know what it was and what it could do, more than anything. It needed him, and he needed it. His entire being was suddenly affixed upon the artifact, as if they shared a blood kinship that had spanned the centuries. With a renewed sense of normalcy he once again set aside his insanity, and found the inner means to walk inside the massive halls of Perpetua.

  Almost immediately as he crossed the entrance threshold, he was met with stares and whispers from the idle Elites, lingering in the pathway. Each talebearer made Beaver increasingly sickened as he slowly trotted towards his office. His logical fear began to crescendo, as he thought about what might happen. It was obvious that everyone knew about what occurred last dark. How much was the unknown element of consideration. As Beaver walked, his mind surged with flashes of the Catholic Parliament.

  Are they going to take me at work? He pondered with uneasiness.

  Each whisper and glassy stare as he walked towards his office, caused him an increasing twinge of dread to overwhelm him. His fears reached its apex as he crossed into his office. He expected at any time for his side door to open, and the sight of sentries and dunners to overtake him.

  His heart seemingly stopped as he peered upon his used Lev-throne. Someone was sitting in the back-turned seat, waiting as if to pounce. The Lev-throne quickly spun around, revealing its hidden stranger.

  It was Mercurial!

  He was dressed in his full regalia and seemed quite perturbed.

  Beaver could only stand motionless, trying to stifle his fright of staring face to face with the Perpetua Overlord himself.

  “I heard about your little non-conformity last dark…” he said with a smug candor.

  He was visibly disgusted by his less than upper-class surroundings.

  “We knew that your little friend was always merely one step away from infusion. He was not an Academy faithful at all …” Mercurial said, standing and dusting himself off. “We only let him exist for your sake, Beaver2416 … you were always so gloomy and needed a counterpart. He was chosen because he was a victim of those filthy kidnappers that you had the misfortune to be enjoined with. I think that you will do alright, alone from now on … right?” he said with an inquisitive look.

  Beaver’s sociopathy suddenly reinstated itself.

  “He was against the Edict … he deserved to die.” Beaver said with a puffed-up chest.

  “The Edict-- oh, yes … yes.” Mercurial said, seemingly preoccupied with other things.

  “He was only a mirage of my past. I will be just fine. I have the G.M. as my best friend. I need no one else— SdotG!” Beaver bellowed with arrogant pride.

  He projected as if he was personally offended by Timmy2845’s would-be treasonous act.

  “Good … good--your faithfulness will be rewarded. I will personally see to it.” Mercurial said, standing to greet him with an outstretched hand.

  As Beaver mutually accepted his handshake, he looked down and again noticed the Cumal ring on his hand. A shockwave of fear lit up his spine as he rapidly thought about its power. Mercurial released his grip and lightly patted him on his shoulder. Beaver was still in partial shock, as Mercurial walked away towards his posh surroundings.

  He didn’t know!?--He thought.

  His mind flooded with the idea that perhaps no one, not even Mercurial knew about what sat in darkness behind the Lev-basin. Just then, his thought process was put on hold as the progscreen in his office illuminated.

  The sect-bot awoke and stood with its arms raised in salute. Oddly, it didn’t animate upon his entry, as every other time. He thought hard that Mercurial’s Cumal ring had something to do with it, as he reluctantly stood to attention.

  “Good light, my faithful subjects.” The G.M. said with his usual stale opening. As he railed on, Beaver again thought about what had happened.

  Could they really have NOT known about what James had stolen?--This one thought persisted throughout his light address. Soon, his speech was over and the hum of machines filled the atmosphere. “SdotG” the two said in unison, as always. In daily perpetuation, he then grabbed his ambient plugs off the small Lev-desk, and rested them on his ears. Next, he opened the drawer and put on his plat-armoring and grabbed the concussive force rod, hanging on the wall.

  “I’ll See you later …” Beaver loudly said to the sect-bot, walking through the side door.

  “Good bye, Beaver2416 …” the sect-bot replied, as it again went back to its slumber.

  Throughout the day, he was enthralled in his work. It was the only thing that kept him and his emotions and thoughts in check. As long as he stood by with vigilance, looking for every single iota of disobedience, he could not revert to a pool of cerebral captivity. He used the bat as he called it, much more today than any other. People were going to work, because Beaver could not afford to abandon his mental shoring. To let go at this point could mean a loss of everything that James, his family, and the rest of the Church once stood for. He was the last of their kind. And, if his end meant that he was going to be indisolved, he wanted more than anything to go out with a blazing ball of fire, rather than a spark.

  Suddenly, a loud warble could be heard throughout the manufacturing floor. It was closing time. With all of the Force rod strikes and tosses into the screen, Beaver had greatly lost track of time. This sound could not be heard in the office by design, because it shocked and scared too many of the frail Elites. With a heaving gait and a few deep breaths, Beaver went through the side door into his office to take off all his gear.

  “No messages--Beaver2416” the sect-bot sounded. Beaver could barely hear its call because his ambient plugs were still in place.

  He quickly took them off and said “Thank you.”

  Again, he put away his armoring and force rod and left Perpetua with haste.

  Outside as usual, there was a massive crowd, bustling to get on each passing transport. This time he decided to force his way through, instead of waiting. Like a mid-ancient bulldozer, he shoved his way through the crowd and took his place on a nearby transport. He, no longer had any reason to wait. He wanted to be rude for a change for Timmy’s sake. Timmy was always spouting out non-understanded rudeness to almost everyone. This time he thought why not? when he saw the crowd. His emotional pathway was now filled with sour bitterness and cynicism. Frankly, Beaver did not care anymore. His only shred of concern was now focused upon the hidden shelf, behind the Lev-basin. At this point, he merely hoped that Tim’s mystery was nothing more than a bomb, which could blow up himself and everyone around it.

  The ride home was excruciating to Beaver. It seemed to him much slower than ever before. As he could now catch a glimpse of Stowelowly before him; suddenly he remembered Bobble’s brief reaction to his icy stare concerning
Tim. Could he have known Timmy before? Beaver mused with hard examination. Oddly enough, he actually hoped to see him peddling his wares on the way home, so he could discretely question him. Or, at least get a passing confirmation that somehow he knew Timmy in a personal way. Sadly, Bobble and all of his grime was nowhere to be found. This was a very strange occurrence. Bobble was always standing there, in all of his pestilent glory, trying to snag a few GP’s from each passerby. This missing bum with all his filth and annoyance; was another cause for uneasiness in Beaver’s wearied mind. Was he involved? Did he get infused? These questions swirled inside his head, much like a mid-ancient carnival fair ride.

  His unwanted whirl abruptly came to a stop as the transport ascended into New Dresden. Just the sight of all the haughty Elites and their pompous sprawl, gave Beaver a new sense of clarity.

  Synth-liquor in every hand … greed and avarice … murder and power…

  Regardless of whatever the cost was, the Academy had to be stopped. James was dead … nothing was ever going to change that. However, Beaver2416 now wanted to live. He found a mentality of retribution, not only his former friends and family; but to see the destruction of the Academy. His thoughts suddenly changed from ones of fear and contemplation to that of tactical analysis. He could not wait till the next decision day. This was perhaps because for the first time in his life since the bunker, this was going to be his day. His heart leaped with the inner thoughts that somehow his dusty cryptogram could destroy the Great Master and all his followers in a swirling vortex of fire. This one thought consumed Beaver more than any other.