Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

As the transport finally came to a halt in Westbrook, Beaver held a grin upon his face. The mere thoughts of ridding himself of, or obliterating his captors make him feel good inside. The final screech sounded, telling everyone to leave. Beaver stood to his feet and began to walk down the lighted pathway with a renewed stability. He knew now that he could make it alone. His mind was completely at ease with the entire situation. He was determined to do whatever that needed to be done to bring down the stronghold surrounding him. Now more than ever, he was thoroughly convinced that whatever waited in silence behind the Lev-basin had the power to destroy the entire Academy. It had to … or else everything that James, the bunker, and their family ever stood and died for was all in vain.

  Chapter 8:

  As the Lev-basin did its usual every light ritual, all Beaver could do is stare incessantly at Timmy’s artifact, nestled in the dusty corner. Just one more day-- he thought with a sigh. All of the other days had seemingly flown by. Ever since that first light of intense emotion had ceased, Beaver was filled with confidence and serenity. “If they were going to get me … they already would have.” He continually said to himself. “Sanitation is complete” the basin squawked as it once again retreated. Beaver walked into the hallway and yelled out a resounding “Yes!” before the robot could speak.

  “Good … I’m not deaf!” The bad ceil-bot interjected, and then retracted into the ceiling. Beaver had to restrain himself from laughing out loud.

  He was seemingly giddy, because one more day gave him a hope that something in his wretched life could be done for an actual good to others. After his morning rituals, he walked up the hallway towards his droll bowl of Granfibrous. He felt as if tomorrow was his life’s destiny. His mind was entranced with the wistful aspirations that everything he had been through; all of the death and torture, all of misery and slavery, were but mere stepping stones that led him down a sadistic promenade towards next light. He knew that tomorrow, everything was going to change.

  As he sat studying the craquelure of his bowl and its bland contents, he suddenly had a hidden thought. It was a misplaced memory of his father.

  “Robert!” Beaver exclaimed out loud without forethought. He suddenly remembered that his father’s name was Robert! He also remembered that he frequently stood behind a crude wooden stand that held a large book. He was saying something repeatedly, as he shook his fist. With all his might Beaver tried, but couldn’t make out what it was. It seemed surreal, like a euphoric intoxication of shapes and colors. He quickly pondered that maybe this mirage of the past was a warning or a sign. But sadly, there was nothing that he could find in it to be considered.

  “Who is Robert?” The victual android demanded, slapping its mechanized arm upon the counter. Beaver rapidly awoke from his daydreaming.

  “Rob … Robert!? No, I … I said ROBUST! Your food is always robust!” he snorted in a hurried panic. Viki paused and tilted its mechanized head from side to side, because it was thinking.

  After a few ticts, it then spoke, “That is agreeable, Sir.” It then spun around to its work station, and returned to its daily prep work.

  Again, Beaver could hardly contain himself from laughing out loud.

  This time Beaver had completely finished before the anthem played. With the Enlighted One flickering now before him, he lifted his arms into the air. Beaver did this long before the G.M. was even done speaking. Today, he really didn’t care how much Acad-protocol was thrown at him. Beaver kept telling himself that tomorrow was going to be the beginning of the end for the Great Master. He had encouraged himself throughout these few days, to the point that he truly believed that his hidden treasure was going to bring down the entire world of the Academy. This hopeful encouragement of a wistful dream was all that he had left to hold on to.

  “SdotG” the duo said as the progscreen finally faded. Since the address was now over and he had already finished eating, Beaver ran with all his might toward the entryway. He bounded high in the air, quickly descending several steps away.

  “Let’s get this over with …” He said to himself, as he arose from the pathway below.

  He quickly spun around in habitual routine, looking for James. Normally, he would be waiting in the pathway, aggravated as always.

  “Tim …” he vocalized with a downcast tonality. Beaver’s heart suddenly sank, realizing the finality of his friend’s death. He then thought with intensity, about the name that he had just mentioned. In that moment, Beaver decided to never again refer to him as Tim, Timmy, or Timmy2845. Those were the shameful, slave brands of Academy-owned property. He was no longer bound with the hardships and pangs of indentured servitude for a cruel master.

  As he began walking, Beaver all of a sudden mused about something on display at the Archive of Fact. There was a small display of someone, known simply as MLK. (What these initials meant, the Academy powers could never figure out) This figurehead of the former time, was depicted speaking to a massive crowd of oddly-dressed people. What was left of this man’s speech, was a badly-worn holo-converted clip of about 7 ticts in length. What he said made Beaver overwhelmed with emotion as he contemplated it—

  “… will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, Free at last! free at last! ….”

  James Matthews was a free man, and the Academy could never take away his emancipation ever again. That small presentation suggested to him, there was a time long ago when people were oppressed like they are today. Perhaps, they too had a Great Master or corporate deity that controlled them. But to see such a multitude standing together and speaking words of freedom, made him feel there was hope for tomorrow. He imagined that in his infusion and disappearance from this world of chains, his friend was suddenly transported through time to stand in that massive crowd. He could see James holding a sign stating “free at last” with a beaming smile across his face. Beaver had to fight back his tears of joy and sorrow, as he pushed and shoved onto an idle transport.

  He took his seat and he was once again lost in his thoughts. He imagined a new world. A place without screens or Androids or rigor. A place where someone with a dream and the ambition to achieve could create their heart’s desire. Not with force or hatred, but with hard work and deeds of goodness. Of course, because not everyone would share the dreams; there would also have to be those who were commissioned to protect them. They would be put in place to keep these dreams safe from them who would do harm. These guardians would also have to be loyal to the dreamers … and the dreamers loyal to the guardians.

  Perhaps, there once was a time like this—Beaver thought. Maybe their downfall was they stopped dreaming? … or they stopped protecting? … or they forgot their loyalty and goodness?—he continued. These ideas swam throughout his sociopathic brain as the transport warbled slowly, ever closer to the doors of his workjob.

  Soon … the daily reciprocity of riding the crowded transport was over, and Beaver was back on the job at Perpetua. Upon sight of the place, he shoved all of his transport musings into a mental box and once again became a Hachiman. The floor was steady with activity, as it always was before decision day. Everyone had a certain quota that had to be met by the end of the production. If they did not, they would face imminent torture tomorrow, while everyone else was resting. On these days, Beaver usually did not have to crack the whip at all. Because of this, it made for a very dull, boring time. Beaver always believed--A day without a toss was not a real day. As he stood idly by, waiting for any nuance of non-conformity; he thought again about the vision he had at lightfast of his father. Could it actually mean something?--he thought in retrospect. Having an unplaced thought of such magnitude one light before the most important Decision day of his miserable life, seemed almost like an epiphany. Or at least, what Beaver thought that an epiphany was supposed to feel like.

  As he contemplated the past, his ambient plugs suddenly vibrated.

  “Beaver2416-- please report to the Alcove.” The message interjected in his ears.

&
nbsp; His heart seemingly stopped beating.

  THEY KNOW!--He violently thought, as his eyes were found at the point of almost

  falling out of his head. He suddenly felt the emotion of raw fear, just like he did with Mercurial. But … but … they would have already got me … his sociopathy rebutted in a seemingly mental debate. Round and round it tossed and swirled, until the side of reason prevailed.

  Maybe … Maybe, it’s nothing … just procedures. He thought in consolation, as

  his eyes returned to normalcy and his fearfulness left him. With a great exhale, Beaver then left the floor through his side office door.

  The Alcove was the Elite break room. Not that they needed such a place, as they seemingly were always on break. It was mainly a meet up place for wayward Elites to sneak another gulp of synth-liquor or deal the latest drug. Sometimes however, it was a place for office-wide meetings. Usually, these meetings were warnings or new regulations. And sometimes they were proclamations from on high. When Beaver entered and saw the small crowd of office Elites, he knew that this one was of no exception. As everyone settled and took a seat; Mercurial suddenly appeared from a side entrance. Beaver felt a sudden uneasiness as he looked upon his face.

  Mercurial was far from happy.

  “… As of late, it has come to my attention that we have had several breaches of security and even theft of official Academy particulars and information. THIS MUST STOP! We must keep vigilance for the sake of our blessed Great Master and our way of life!” Mercurial bellowed furiously, with a shaken fist pointed towards the crowd. As he railed on, Beaver sat motionless; still thinking about next light and Tim’s legacy. Then, Mercurial said something that made him physically sick—

  “Just a few darks ago, as many of you know … Beaver2416, one of our very own; was attacked in his own home, by someone once hailed as friend!”

  The crowd jeered as many of them looked at Beaver in consolation.

  “This villain of the lowest kind … once known as Timmy2845, hated the Academy and plotted against us and our Great Master; as he daily worked among us in the Archive of Fact! He took us all for FOOLS, and was indisolved for his TREASON! WE MUST WATCH ALL WITH DILLIGENCE! WE MUST NOT GROW SOFT ON INSUBORDINATES! … FOR THE EDICT!!!” Mercurial shouted from the top of his lungs.

  Everyone, including Beaver stood to their feet and chanted the same with their hands raised in salute, “FOR THE EDICT! SdotG! SdotG! …”

  As the crowd went wild with praise and worship of the G.M., Beaver noticed that Mercurial was looking straight at him. In a flash of time, everything suggested to Beaver as if it had frozen in place, as Mercurial winked at him. Beaver nodded in salutation, still with a sickness in his stomach. Mercurial then buffeted his hands in a downward motion, to quiet everyone once again. After a few moments of silent clarity, with everyone returned to their seating; Mercurial spoke yet again--

  “Beaver2416, please stand …”

  Beaver slowly stood, looking all around him, waiting for the piercing blow of a dunner to consume him.

  “I would like to personally thank Beaver2416 on behalf of Perpetua and our blessed Great Master, for his part in alerting Academy foot troops to this dastardly scoundrel and his thwarted, would-be acts of terrorism … Thank you.” Mercurial said, clapping his hands.

  The crowd furiously clapped their hands, as well as gave Beaver back slaps and nudges of praise. He did not know what had happened, but his sociopathy compelled him to play along. He smiled and waved to the crowd like a consummate professional. However, his mind was a torrent of swelling emotion. Obviously, this was a blatant lie for the sake of the Academy. For what purpose, was the unknown factor that made Beaver feel like breaking down in a panicked demonstration of sheer carelessness.

  Are they only covering themselves or do they know!? Beaver hurriedly screamed in his mind. Will I live another day?--This thought almost made him pass out in the floor.

  Suddenly, the friendly call of you are dismissed squalled throughout the office and break room. It was much more easy-toned than what bellowed on the production floor, because many of the frail Elites would jump in fright otherwise. As usual, everyone immediately rushed towards the exits. As the people left, Beaver could still feel nudges and slaps on the shoulder from the various Elites. He smiled at them as they passed in approval; even though he stood there motionless, still lethargic from his thoughts. He could not fully process what had happen. Beaver began to take deep breaths trying to return to normalcy.

  “Beaver--You’ll miss your transport … Oh, and happy Decision day to you tomorrow.” Mercurial stated as he too stood motionless.

  His words somehow jolted Beaver back into reality.

  “Thank … thank you. Happy Decision day to you as well. SdotG.” Beaver said, nodding in salutation. He took one more breath, and then turned to leave.

  “Yes … SdotG indeed.” Mercurial stated as he too turned to leave out of the side entrance.

  Outside, much of the crowd had already left. Beaver briskly trotted and bounded unto one of the transports. He wanted to get as far away as he could, as quickly as possible. He was still very confused and shaken from the meeting. He slumped into the seat, trying to keep someone from infusing him from behind.

  “You did a good thing…The Great Master be praised.” Someone said from the seat across from him, with their hands raised in salutation.

  Beaver quickly erected himself and sat at attention. Then, others around him began thanking him and reaching for handshakes. He suddenly knew that the workers were obviously also told about his false heroics. As he greeted each one with smiles like a mid-ancient politician, inside he grew madder and madder.

  James was MY friend! He wasn’t a traitor--THEY are the traitors! He died for the cause of FREEDOM! Freedom from lies! Freedom to live for yourselves! Freedom to think! Freedom to dream! CURSE THE ACADEMY! HEATHEN!!! HEATHEN!!! Beaver shrieked at the top of his mental lungs. He wanted to punch each and every well-wisher on the transport, and wipe away their looks of adoration with bone-crunching agony.

  “But … they are not your enemies”--His sociopathy retorted with logical reason.

  With this thought, his pool of fiery implements retreated into a cascade of tranquility. Beaver returned to his former state of calm, as he was last dark at the same time. These people surrounding him were innocent victims. Hapless bystanders who were herded and brainwashed for the cause of abomination. Beaver knew more than anything, that the Academy and all its vain-glory was evil. They could never drill into his head and heart that anything good existed among the Acad-Elites. Something deep within him could not let him conform and accept their many lies. These lowly workers, who give their despicable lives for a false cause; were merely gullible pawns upon a Chesser-lev.

  As he sat in contemplation, he suddenly had a familiar smell fill his nose—

  “Bobble …” Beaver said out loud dejectedly, rolling his eyes.

  This time he was hocking sar-rat sticks, which resembled mid-ancient GMO corn dogs. Many of the patrons on the transport held their nose in disgust. Roasted Sar-rats had an unmistakable smell, reminiscent of ammonia terpenes. Just the sight of such skewered, large Animalia was enough to make several people sick to their stomach.

  “You want a Joy-stick? Joy-sticks are Tasty good! Only a GP for a Joy-stick” Bobble stated, only reigers from Beaver’s face. He kept prodding his wares with great annoyance like a barker of the former time. Beaver could only cough and gag, as he batted him away.

  “No … you … fool!”--Beaver stated between coughs.

  “Well then … No James-stick for you.” Bobble quickly said, as he moved his wares into someone else’s way.

  Beaver’s face physically changed.

  That bum knows something, I don’t—he rapidly thought, as the transport started moving again.

  “I want one! I want one!” he began shouting, trying to get Bobble’s attention as the transport started moving faster.

  The people
on board looked shocked and disgusted, that Beaver would want such a hideous treat. As he waved his hands frantically, Bobble walked away in the opposite direction.

  “Hey BUM! I said I want one!” Beaver shouted in a gruff, angered tone.

  Sadly, he did not even lift his head to look in his direction. Whether this action was intentional or not, he did not know. The moving transport was filled with odd and disgusted glances, at such an outburst. Quietly, he swam through the sea of onlookers, and reclaimed his former position. Beaver could only watch him seemingly disappear as the transport topped the hill into New Dresden.

  The rest of the way home Beaver sat in silence. He reflected upon everything that had transpired since last Decision day. Tim was living, hording items as usual. Now--he was gone and the final remnant of his existence sat behind a Lev-basin. He mused upon the fleeting memory of his father, and how it had to mean something. As of yet, he did not know what it was. The sudden meeting and Mercurial’s lies--was he only covering for the Academy, or is he waiting to strike?

  With everything inside of him in a swirling torrent of introspection, he also wanted an answer to his question--What did that bum, Bobble know? He felt assured that the name of James was a secret between themselves alone. For a vagrant in Stowelowly to know their life’s hidden whispers, was of great concern to Beaver.

  Had he told him?

  Were they friends?

  Why would he know?

  Did others know?

  —Beaver continued in inner wonderment.

  As he meditated upon all these thoughts, he looked up at all of the misguided souls on the transport. They had already returned to their mode of silenced conformity. Such hopelessness … and for what?! The privilege to serve a made-up deity?! There has to be more to life than this—he reasoned with great concern. He then expanded on such thinking, and considered every other transport filled with wearied people throughout New Judah. They have nothing to live for … If only I could reach them--Beaver thought with a hopeful gaze. As the people mover reached its final destination, he swallowed hard. And, with a new determination, he bellowed in his mind