Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

  As he stood motionless, his thought processes fully returned. Beaver grabbed him by the clothes and picked him up close to his face.

  “Where did you hear that name?! Why did you say Matthew?!” He said, still with an anger.

  “Matthew was his first name … James his last. He never corrected you, because he didn’t want you to know …” Bobble meekly said, still crying.

  “Know about what?!” Beaver growled.

  “He was so afraid of you--afraid of your workjob … afraid of your association with the Elites”--Bobble said passionately, as his tears fell in waterfall-like profusion--“he wanted to tell you a million times but just couldn’t … now--but now he’s dead!”

  He was so distraught that he was unable to look at Beaver in the eyes.

  “You are not making sense!” Beaver demanded, as he shook Bobble in frustration.

  All of a sudden, Bobble wiped his eyes and slowly stopped crying. He then peered directly at Beaver2416. He sat for a several moments in contemplation, as if he were making a major decision. Beaver could only stand gazing with an awkward look, not knowing what was happening. With a seeming whoosh of air, he quickly stood to his feet, and grabbed Beaver’s hand.

  “Come … follow me. There is much to show you”--Bobble pleaded, trying to lead him forward.

  Beaver’s first instinct was to pull away, yet he paused from moving. After a few ticts had passed, he could only look in disbelief, as he found himself compelled to follow Bobble without regard.

  Why am I doing this?--He thought to himself. Yet, something unknown that was deep inside his heart could not let him separate.

  He HAD to follow him.

  “Good … good--this way.” Bobble quipped with a stutter.

  He led him across the hallway to a crude mid-ancient bathroom. It had a chemically scratched and blackened tub, a crumbled toilet that had fallen on the floor, and a broken vanity with pieces of shattered mirror still affixed to the wall.

  “What you are about to see, you must never tell … even upon torture of death.” Bobble spoke with a grave seriousness.

  Beaver could only nod in affirmation, still languishing in a euphoria of difficulty.

  Between the broken vanity and the downcast toilet was a small piece of wooden trim. Bobble pressed against it with his hand, and suddenly the bathroom door slammed shut and bolted from the inside. Then, the side of the tub slowly rose into the air, much like the mid-ancient Murphy bed on display at the Archive of Fact. Revealed to Beaver’s astonishment; there was an underground pathway below where the tub had rested.

  “Come … there is someone you need to meet.” Bobble said, as he began his descent upon a crude ladder, into the darkness under the washing vessel.

  Beaver took a deep breath, and followed with a great uneasiness; not knowing where this strange Humble from Stowelowly would lead him.

  Chapter 10:

  “Hit the shovel!” Bobble told Beaver2416 from the ground below. Half way down the rickety ladder, there was a shovel sticking out from the rock faced wall. Its spade was firmly wedged into the hard granite, and had a rope attached to the handle. Beaver pushed on the shovel’s handle, and suddenly the entire tunnel went dark as the stained tub retreated to its former position. As Beaver clung more tightly to the ladder in the darkness, he could hear in the distance the sound of the door above him unlocking and re-opening. After a few moments, the tunnel illuminated in rapid succession as mid-ancient light bulbs fired one at a time, traveling upward into the dank unknown.

  “You can come down now.”--Bobble said with a snicker. Beaver cautiously loosened his grip and began the rest of his descent. As his feet reached the bottom, he looked around and realized that this was some sort of underground cave system, and not anything man-made. The incandescent lights seemingly danced upon the cascades of stalactites and stalagmites, as he stood in awe of nature’s creation.

  “They don’t make em’ like this anymore--aye?” Bobble said in his strange, newly found accent. The aura of all the cave formations and their grandeur, kept Beaver from vocalizing anything. Then with a head shake, all at once he finally came to himself.

  “Why the disguise? I mean … your voice?” Beaver inquisitively said.

  “You’ll find out soon enough … follow me.” Bobble said with a smile.

  The cave system and its grand expanse seemingly went on for an eternity. As they trudged through the dampness, Beaver noticed various relics of the former time, carefully preserved by the cave’s atmosphere. There were remnants of camp fires, crude tents riddled with holes, and many strange hand devices that had letters and numbers imprinted upon them.

  “That … that’s a truck!” Beaver exclaimed, as he pointed at the partial wreckage of a mid-ancient delivery truck. It had a faded picture of children laughing and drinking extinct cow’s milk on the side. He suddenly remembered that he and Matthew had such vehicular devices in his childhood in the bunker, although they were much smaller and you had to push them.

  “Day Ree?” Beaver slowly spoke in inquisition, with his head tilted to the side.

  “It says Dairy! Now, come along! This isn’t a field trip!” Bobble barked, in a hurried anticipation as he kept walking far ahead.

  Beaver quickly conformed to his command, desiring not to be lost in such a massive cave. However, he could not help himself but periodically stop and wonder at all of the artifacts of yesteryear that riddled the stony floor. Obviously to Beaver, it was the nuances of a former civilization that existed beyond the Academy’s grip. They were the markers and traits of another time. Perhaps, the cave was used in the Great Conflict as a hiding place, or for many spans after, he thought. Whatever timeframe they held, he could not tell.

  With Bobble’s constant prodding, the duo walked a great distance away; far from the site of the crude ladder. To Beaver, they travelled throughout the cave system for what seemed like spans, until they came face to face with a craggy limestone wall. The smooth wall massive, seemingly without crack or seam to be found.

  “Here we are!” Bobble said with relief.

  Beaver, (still pondering upon what a field trip was) looked very confused.

  “Where? There’s nothing here!” he spoke, looking at the dullness of the enormous limestone slab before him.

  “Good … that’s what we want everyone to think.” Bobble quipped, as he reached his hand into his tattered clothing, revealing a hidden inner pocket. Suddenly, his hand reappeared clad with a small electronic device, attached to his fingers. Beaver was completely floored in disbelief! Bobble then, took his hand and rested it against the limestone wall.

  “Remember … you tell no one, even on torture of death.” he spoke in a stern tone.

  “Agreed …” Beaver said, in complete wonderment. Bobble then moved a small switch on top of the device with his free hand. The limestone wall before him began to rumble as a rounded outline began to form around his body. All at once, a bulk-headed robotic door began to swing open as he stepped backwards, with his hand still attached to the limestone. It revealed behind it, some sort of air-locked passageway.

  “Get inside!” Bobble yelled, as he again flipped the switch and suddenly detached from the limestone wall. Almost immediately, the doorway began to reclose. The duo ran inside just in time, as the door resealed and locked.

  “Air way secured”--a robotic voice echoed, inside of the chamber.

  “What is this?” Beaver demanded.

  “It’s a surviving part of an old missile silo … built way before the Great Conflict. I think they called it Atlas … whoever he was. We added the limestone slab in front to hide everything about ten spans ago, after a couple of us invented this magnetic locky thing.” Bobble reluctantly told, with the strange device still on his fingers.

  He knew that he couldn’t appease his child-like questioning and curiosity otherwise.

  “Us?!” Beaver echoed.

  “Yes … us. Now, press the Red button …” Bobble said, pointing at a crude
control panel attached to the metal wall. Perturbed from his lack of answers, Beaver quickly slammed the red pushbutton. The floor started to quake and move violently.

  “Hold on to the rail…” Bobble loudly stated, as the rattling increased.

  Beaver had no problem obeying his command.

  The floor unlocked from its positioning, and began to quickly rise up the ballistic tube. The greenish lights inside seemingly pulsated faster and faster as they traveled. The gravitational forces began to increase rapidly. With each passing tict, Beaver2416 started to lean towards a state of panic.

  “Are we going to get shot out!?” Beaver cried as loud as he could, with a look of logical fear upon his face.

  Bobble could not help but laugh uncontrollably.

  Beaver suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment, as the floor started to slow in its assent. With a great puff of air, the locking mechanism engaged and they stopped moving.

  “Nope … I don’t guess so.” Bobble stated, still snorting about Beaver’s child-like fear. After a few ticts, another doorway opened.

  “After you …” Bobble said with an outstretched arm, like a door-andro greeting its customers.

  “Heathen!” Beaver barked with a sour face, as he walked off the platform into the unknown before him. Bobble followed still giggling under his breath, as the doorway sealed shut behind him.

  Within a few short steps inside the unknown area, Beaver was once again struck with wonderment. It was a large living domicile, much larger than anything in Westbrook or New Dresden. In the massive cave, the walls were struck with opulence, like the tinting of Mother of Pearl. There were enormous stalactites adorning the ceiling, filled with hues of red and purple. On the cave’s floor there were still the broken pieces where flowstone and stalagmites once existed, but were moved by men’s hands. By the level of noises, Beaver quickly estimated that at least a thousand people lived there. Or at least, the echoing that bounced upon each rocky formation gave the illusion of thousands.

  The only word that Beaver could utter out loud was “Amazing.”

  There was a massive food storage with enough to feed thousands right in front of him. It was just mere steps off the antiquated and retro-fitted hov-vator. There were also many workers tending to what looked like plants, with crude hand tools. Beaver marveled at how strangely each plant was set in rows, sticking into the tilled, rocky earth. Obviously, much of the blackened soil was brought here from another place. Or perhaps, engineered to be fertile from much trial and research. How and where boggled his sociopathic mind to its limits.

  There were also many plants that Beaver knew by the pictures next to each row, were deemed extinct or poisonous according to the Archive of Fact. However, these fascinating rows of growing things looked much different—much more vibrant and inviting than that of the Archive’s catalogue.

  Each one of the workers had a specific job—some were tilling, some watering, some planting, even some were harvesting. Nothing that the Academy had, resembled such antiquity in the growing of food. Throughout New Judah, nothing was ever grown in such a manner. Every sort of nutrition and sustenance thrust upon the people was made by androids in a chem-lab. Everything was synthesized from the rudimentary nuances of what once was. There was no real food to be found in the Academy lands. To see real food growing before his eyes was the euphoria of legends and dreams.

  “That’s the pantry over there,” Bobble narrated, pointing at all the foodstuffs as he walked in the opposite direction, --“Come this way.”

  As they went up the large hallway, there were several others that noticed and greeted Beaver with smiles, hand raises, and nods. Many, simply stopped everything they were doing to cast their friendly gaze upon Beaver. This too, was so amazing to him. No one working in New Judah, except for the Elites; ever stopped working for any reason. When the klaxon rang, you were to work, until the Elites or their superiors told you to stop. To see people stopping their labors, and not immediately being attacked by androids and Hachimen (like himself) was mind numbing to Beaver. He could only do the same, nodding to each one in return--with nervousness--not knowing what to expect next.

  As they trotted together through the large domicile, Beaver noticed up ahead several large alcoves. They had people inside of them with whited coats, and strange masks over their faces. It looked like they were tending to the injured and infirmed. Each alcove was filled with steely colored tables and funny looking tools. It was all set up in a fashion that struck a memory of something he saw in the Archive of Fact.

  “Is this called … a hospital?” Beaver sincerely inquired about the alcoves.

  “You could say that …” Bobble voiced, without pausing in his stride up the hallway.

  This too was fascinating to Beaver. There was no system of medical treatment in New Judah. Only the Elites had the privilege of treatment and recuperation in the face of sickness or disease. If you did not have such status in the Academy, any sickness was not an option for you. You had to work with sadistic perpetuation, regardless if you were nearing death itself. You had to eat whatever was set before you, no matter if you felt like vomiting. You were to salute the G.M., even if your arms were broken. To see common workers being bandaged, and young children receiving medicines gave Beaver an overwhelming feeling. What that feeling was—he did not know.

  As they walked, the atmosphere seemingly morphed from the humanistic to the mechanical. The walled shelvers were overflowing with a vast inventory of the computerized and mechanized. There were robotic parts and other electronic miscellanea everywhere the eye could see. This large place where Bobble led was seemingly filled wall to wall, with all sorts of antique media and integrated circuitry. There were memory chips, mag-tape drives, circuit boards, and unidentifiable playthings scattered throughout. Gawking at the mountainous terrain of electronics before him; some of it looked to Beaver as if it were hundreds of spans old.

  There were also what looked like rare and ancient artifacts lining the walls. Many of them were formed from crude materials such as woods, stones, animal skins, and earth. They were certainly from a time long before anything electrical. They were all neatly stacked into labeled bins and boxes, much like the mid-ancient hardware store exhibit at the Archive of Fact. Beaver could only wonder in awe-struck bewilderment, as to what civilization that could have been to produce such perplexity.

  “James--I mean--Matthew would have loved this.” Beaver spoke as he looked at the massive collection.

  “He did.” Bobble said as he finally stopped walking, right in front of a large pile of old motherboards.

  “This is it …” Bobble interjected as he began to try to tidy himself, shaking the dust from his clothing. Beaver then knew, that whatever or whoever was around the heap of electronics must be important.

  They slowly turned the corner, and a shadowed figure materialized before them in the dimly lit area, sitting at a Lev-desk.

  “Intruder!” a robotic voice bellowed with its arms raised to fight. The mysterious person raised his hand towards the android standing beside him, and it calmed and lowered its arms.

  “I told you to never come here unless we called for you … you are Bio-marked, remember!?” The mystery personage said with a slight anger.

  “I’m sorry, I had to come. I’ve got terrible news--MATTHEW IS DEAD!” Bobble told, seemingly breathless in front of him.

  The figure quickly stood up and distraughtly put his head in his hands.

  “My God … what will we do now?” the enigma spoke.

  After several ticts, the figure seemingly recomposed themselves.

  “Were you followed?” it bellowed with an annoyance.

  “No sir … we used the caves. They can’t track us in the caves …” Bobble said with prostration. Suddenly, a thought occurred to Beaver who was standing by idle in contemplation. As the two before him conversed about Matthew and argued about safety, he realized something

  --he had heard this mystery voice before.

&n
bsp; “Morgan!” Beaver shouted, as he had come to his inner revelation.

  The duo stopped talking and stood in silence.

  With a deep breath, the person spoke--“Verb-bot … Illuminate!”

  The android beside him turned and keyed a pressure plate, mounted on the wall.

  Suddenly, the room’s lighting made Beaver’s deduction crystal clear.

  “Yes … Morgan.” the unmasked man interjected. It was the same Morgan that sat beside him on the transport, on the last Decision day.

  “… and you are Beaver2416. Welcome to the Schism!” Morgan quelled with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Don’t speak … there is much to tell you and I don’t want to repeat myself.” he squawked at Beaver with his finger raised.

  Beaver could only nod in affirmation, as all of this was a shock to his system.

  “I knew that this day would eventually come, Beaver2416. Matthew always wanted to tell you about everything … but sadly, he never got the chance to do so. We were always afraid of your position as a Hachiman, and former dealings as a pseudo-celebrity. We knew that you would no doubt be loyal to us--but the Elites would soon find out. And when they did, they would infuse you and destroy everything you see here. So, that’s why we kept everything we could from you--It was to protect you and us.” Morgan told in a narrative style, like he was giving a news report.

  “You see, we are all the Schism. We are a group of a nameless amount that had broken off and hidden themselves from the Academy’s grip.” Morgan continued, as Beaver attentively sat in a dusty chair.

  In thinking about what was just said, Beaver looked at his hand in great consideration.

  “Oh … don’t worry about that Beaver2416. This entire place is shielded from the Academy’s Bio-mark scanners. In all our experimentation, it turns out that simple copper, clad with aluminum will block any long-range (short-range is a different story) bio-tracking measures they can come up with. Those caves are filled to the brim with those minerals. Plus, all who dwell here have no such marks imbedded in their flesh.” Morgan continued his dictation.