As he trekked through the halls of Perpetua, he was unfazed by all the onlookers and cat calls. He was much too preoccupied with those words the last of that constantly echoed throughout his head. To be truly the last of anything was to hold a grave responsibility. What that responsibility could be and mean, he hadn’t a single clue. Without really thinking, Beaver waved his hand at the sentry in front of Mercurial’s office.
“Beaver2416--Hachiman. You are authenticated.” the sentry said, as it moved aside. Beaver then, set aside his cerebral ponderings and took the final steps inside Mercurial’s opened door.
There were at least 30 people, a mixture of Elites and commoners crammed into the otherwise spacious office. They had moved most of the expensive playthings, and sat out crude, padded chairs. Some of the Elites could be heard griping and complaining about having to sit on such a disgusting, mid-ancient invention. As Beaver took a seat, and sat idly by watching the small crowd, he suddenly shuttered with inner fear.
He realized that a Caliphate was present. He was standing next to Mercurial; who was scanning the assembly from his Lev-pode. The Caliphates were chief advisors, directly endowed from the Great Master. Each one was hand selected by the G.M himself and given executive privilege above the Elites to dictate his bidding. He completely knew of their powers, because they frequented the Catholic Parliament. Most of the time they would signify to the judiciary someone’s fate of death, with a simple downcast thumb. Beaver knew, as the rest found seating; that if a Caliphate was here--there was going to be trouble.
Mercurial motioned for the small crowd to be silent, and a great hush fell over the assembly.
“I know that we were going to use this time for new promotions and other miscellaneous ideas--We’re not. Instead it has come to my attention from our blessed Great Master, there are much more pressing matters at hand--there is a thief among us”--Mercurial scowled with great distain.
The fragile Elites gasped as they looked at one another in disbelief.
“Someone in this room has committed an act of treason, in the very eyes of our blessed Master!”--Mercurial expounded with rage—“Stealing and plotting against us and our sacred way of life!”
“THIS WILL NOT STAND UNCORRECTED!!!” he screamed, as he hit his Lev-pode, fragmenting a piece to the floor.
He then regained his composure and turned towards the Caliphate.
“Proceed …” Mercurial baulked, with an outstretched hand.
The Caliphate seemingly floated towards all of the seated. His hands were clasped together and hidden, within his jewel encrusted robing. He strutted and scanned each person that he passed by, like choosing what prey would be his next meal. Each one of the diverse crowd that he passed by, turned their gaze from him in fear. There were loud gulps of air and swallows, which could be heard throughout the room. The office was suddenly filled with statues, which would dare not to break from their mode of paralysis.
Everyone in New Judah, knew full well of the power that each Caliphate held. They could do anything they wanted, to anyone—for any reason. Only the Great Master himself had the authority to strike one down, if he willed it.
In short, among the Academy—they were virtually untouchable.
As he slowly moved within the crowd, Beaver could only close his eyes and hold his breath.
They are talking about me! I am going to die!--He ravenously thought, as he knew all too well what was hidden in the Caliphate’s hands.
His steps grew closer, as he began to walk down Beaver’s row of antiquated chairs. Beaver began to tremble in fright, as he fathomed his fate was walking down the aisle. As the Caliphate strolled next to Beaver, he suddenly stopped his travel and stood motionless. Beaver thought that if this was going to be his last moment, then he was going to leave this wretchedness with honor as did his family and his fallen friend. He quickly stood to his feet with a posture of military attention and opened his eyes.
“IT WAS YOU!” The Caliphate roared, as his hands produced a loaded dunner. Suddenly, he fired the weapon at point-blank range. All at once, every panic stricken soul screamed to the top of their lungs as they turned away in their seats. Beaver swiftly exhaled from his great sustain, realizing what had happened.
The Caliphate shot the Elite who was sitting next to him!
Abruptly, the fallen Elite howled with the pangs of death, as she turned to vapour. With his hand still drawn, the Caliphate moved his transfixed eyes upon Beaver standing next to him.
Unaware, Beaver’s sociopathic mind suddenly compelled him to clap his hands in approval. As he clapped, his look of sheer terror turned into a mechanical, beaming smile. Luckily, the other onlookers in the room followed his lead and began to do the same, standing to their feet and clapping. The Caliphate forthwith changed his looks of judgment, to one of consent as he equally smiled and nodded at Beaver. He then turned and walked back to Mercurial’s side, as everyone furiously clapped their hands and shouted—
“SdotG! … SdotG! ... SdotG!”
Mercurial then returned to the now fractured Lev-pode and quieted the crowd.
“Be seated …” he said, as he obviously had more to tell.
“The Academy will not tolerate such insurgency! All traitors will be eliminated! There were also many other items stolen from the storehouses of our Archive of Fact … these items must be retrieved at all cost!” Mercurial again resounded with anger.
He then walked to his Lev-throne and pressed a steely, purple button. Suddenly, the entire plant’s address system squalled with an ear-piercing alert tone. The large multi-view holo-screen mounted on the wall, suddenly turned on. Everyone on the work floor stopped their labors and shut off every machine. The offices halted their constant clicking and buzzing of electronic devices. All at once, Perpetua was filled with silence. Then Mercurial picked up a piece of electron-acetate off of his Lev-desk and shook it slightly in the air.
“…In a direct declaration from our Great Master, blessed be his name. There was a breach of security brought on by cowards of the lowest element. In a treasonous perpetration upon our most noble Archive of Fact--the dastardly Revilers and all their disgusting pestilence, committed a heinous crime in which several items were stolen. These items are pivotal to Academy wellbeing and harmony. Therefore, you are all commissioned to use any means necessary to retrieve them. Anyone with information that comes forward, and as a result causes one or all of these items to be retrieved, will be richly rewarded and their Acad-status will be greatly reconsidered.”--Mercurial stated with an arrogant pomp.
The patrons in the room began to chatter amongst themselves, wondering what these items were and how much GP I would get if I found them. Beaver sat motionless, knowing full well that the leather book that he gave Morgan was one of these pivotal items. He also knew that anyone in the plant would squeal about what he had experienced in the caves and the complex, if they had an inkling of knowledge of its existence. To the Elites this declaration of bounty, meant more laziness, synth-liquor, and mid-ancient drugs. However, to the Selects it was a chance to become upgraded. There was not a single person throughout Westbrook that would not kill to become an Elite. Beaver knew that from this moment on, his covert actions would be much harder to complete.
Mercurial loudly cleared his throat, signifying that he had more to say. Everyone in the room silenced as he continued.
“If there is one among you that is involved with this abomination, you can come forward now and our glorious one will graciously show you clemency for your actions. However, if you do not come … we will find you and destroy you!”--Mercurial paused as he scanned the room with an icy stare.
Beaver fell an overwhelming conviction come over him. He could tell everything and they would show mercy. He could also retrieve the book and possibly become an Elite, and never again think about caves and Revilers. His mind swam in a torrent of selfish contemplation. All it would take is a sound--an uplifted hand and he could receive to himself a bounty of greatness.
In that moment, his mind was engulfed with a hidden thought of his life in the bunker. His father was standing before him in the church, holding something.
“This is the word … the bread of life.” he said with tender speech, as he gently patted the cover of a book that he was holding. Young Beaver peered at the black leather-bound book and its gold lettering. Sadly, he could not make out what words were embossed upon it. Beaver then abruptly awoke from his vision, as Mercurial continued gazing at the holo-screen on the wall looking for any nuance of a confession, throughout the entirety of Perpetua.
“… Very well then. It is everyone’s duty to report anything you see or hear that might bear even the slightest of fruit. Now--continue your labors and may the blessing of the Great Master be upon you. SdotG.”--Mercurial finished with his hands raised in salute.
Everyone in the plant, as well as the cramped room did the same. Within ticts, the holo-screen was filled with people quickly scurrying back to their place of business. Almost immediately, the whirring and clicking of machines could again be heard. The small herd of people reluctantly slogged out of the office, towards their respective places. As Beaver left, he turned and once again looked at the Caliphate standing next to Mercurial.
No one deserves such power--Beaver thought. To have the ability to destroy anyone for any reason you wish, in Beaver’s mind; was a power reserved for God alone. He held this singular thought all the way back to his office and finally to the production floor.
It was not much longer until the end of production. He had only give 4 a toss all work day. He was much too preoccupied with caves and Verb-bots to really get into his work-job. Of course, he could blame it all on the meeting for his lack in production. However, Beaver felt that he had to do something to keep his reputation solidified. With it being the day before Decision, people were scrambling to meet their quotas, especially since there was a pause from Mercurial. No one that he could find, was not already doing their job at a frantic pace. With all that had already happened this light, it made Beaver feel uneasy. The last thing that he wanted to do, was to project an idea that he was slipping in his duties. All he could do is glare at the workers, hoping for something that would justify taking them off of their production.
Suddenly, Beaver shut his eyes and said to himself in distain—
“Heathen!”
The call for the end of the workday had sounded. The workers on the floor seemed happy, because each of them had made their quota. Beaver however, was far from happy as he left the production floor through the side door. He slammed all of his work gear in its places, in so much that the sect-bot awoke from its slumber.
“No postscripts received”--the mechanized lazy spoke.
Without a single word of salutation, Beaver burst forth from his office, and stomped towards the exit of Perpetua. He was angry because he let his inner thoughts cause him to perform a misstep. The last thing that he needed to do was anything out of the ordinary. Giving tosses was something he did daily with an outward radiation of pride and satisfaction. To not display such emotion and vitriol on a daily basis, starts to reveal one’s true feelings. For the sake of Matthew, Morgan, and the rest; this was something that he could not afford to show.
Beaver easily snagged a transport because so many people had dashed away, like they do every dark before Decision day. As he sat and contemplated all that had happened today, his mind once again fretted as he thought about what Morgan had said.
The last of the Revilers--Beaver mused to himself.
If I am the last of the Revilers, then how many were there? Who were they? Why did I survive?--His mind swirled with such velocity, that he seemed again like a question-laden toddler. These placeholders of enigmatic complexity held him in a trance until he had breached the horizon into Stowelowly.
“Bobble!”--Beaver vocalized.
The sight of his newly found friend seemingly snapped him back into reality. He was standing by the trackstop, holding to his farce of selling more GIMP meat pies. As the transport stopped to let off some of its patrons, Bobble slowly migrated towards Beaver, trying not to draw any attention.
“GIMP meat pies! You want a pie? Only a GP!”--He said as he leaned closer.
Beaver shouted--“No you BUM!” as he always had, looking for anyone watching.
Just then, Bobble leaned close to Beaver’s ear.
“The woman Elite--she was one of us. Meet me here, early tomorrow. Push me and start yelling.”--Bobble whispered, in his hidden accent.
Beaver then pushed him away almost to the ground, and screamed “You stupid Tommymop! I told you NO!”
Bobble then played it up like before. “Please sir--only a GP! ... Please kind sir,” he said as the transport began to move.
The transport sped away, and soon Bobble was out of sight. Beaver pondered upon his statement with a smile. Acad-Elites were scrutinized to the highest degree. According to the Edict, they were to be drilled and sifted, until their utmost inner secret had been revealed; and even that was found to be loyal to the Academy and G.M. In Beaver’s mind, it was seemingly impossible that an Elite could dwell within their inner sanctum for spans and not be discovered.
If an Elite could infiltrate all of the Academy’s defenses and safeguards, how many more could there be?--Beaver thought. This idea gave him a new surge of hope. A hope that there could actually be a day, free from sentries and transports and Edicts. A place without fear of retaliation from androids and Acad-soldiers. The freedom to think for yourself and express yourself as you please. This sort of inner treason delighted him greatly, as the transport locomoted towards home.
Chapter 12:
Beaver awoke just like any other Decision day, with his auto-straps loosened and the light from outside dancing upon the sleep chamber’s wall. But of course, he knew that this day was to be much different. This was the day that Beaver felt deep within his sociopathic heart, that all of his nagging questions would be answered. There was so much more to his life’s story that he did not know. He believed that on this day, deep within those caves; there he would find out the truth.
Fully dressed, he heard the ear piercing tones of the Lev-basin beckoning him to come hither, as he stepped into the hallway. Beaver could only smile as the Lev-basin attached itself on to his goodi-port. Once again, he could see the dusty, metal shelf directly behind it. It was only 2 merits ago, that certain death laid there. Now, Beaver could enter and exit the basintory without fear of annihilation.
“Sanitation is complete…” The Lev-basin murmured as it retreated into its corner. Beaver turned and again smiled, because it was such an empowering feeling to have a massive trump over the Academy powers.
He could not wait to meet Bobble in Stowelowly; the very thought of it delighted him greatly. Hidden meetings and sneaky excursions in far-off places, without the Academy’s knowledge; made him seemingly happy. Quite frankly, to do anything without G.M’s and Edicts, was to Beaver; greater than all of the Electronic Goldpence that he had amassed over the spans. The very prospect of freedom was worth to him, his very life; if that is what it took. He paused as he looked up the barren hallway towards the blackened progscreen.
If there was a singular infinitesimal chance that he could make all of the progscreens throughout New Judah turn off forever, he was determined to do whatever it took.
After a few deep breaths, Beaver suddenly raced up the hallway. He quickly turned the corner, and leaped forth from his domicile to the pathway below. This was the first time since Matthew’s death that he even felt like bursting forth from his home, as he did before. Last decision day, he ran and leaped to leave his domicile quickly, in fear. But, this time he did it with the memory of his fallen friend in his heart.
“Made it…” he mumbled as he slowly righted himself.
It was still fairly early, and he hoped that many of the people had not awoken yet. As he walked over the hill and peered at the transports, there were very few standing in queue. This set B
eaver’s mind at ease as he stood still, trying not to bring attention to himself. The last thing that he needed today was to be spotted or followed as he went with Bobble. An empty transport stopped and the handful of people got on. As it started up again, Beaver then slowly made his move towards the now empty line, to snag the next one. As the ticts went by waiting, he hoped that no one else would breach the hill, and he would ride alone. Suddenly, he could see in the distance another transport coming at him. He closed his eyes, like a small child wishing hard for something.
“No one else … no one else.” Beaver kept whispering to himself.
The transport stopped right in front of him, and he quickly jumped on the back seat. He then, looked all about for anyone else trying to enter.
“Go … Go … Go …” he continued in his whispering.
All of a sudden, the locking mechanism retracted and the transport started up again. Beaver greatly sighed in relief, because he was the only one on.
In all of the years that he had lived in Westbrook, this was the first time that he was completely alone on a transport. It was liberating to Beaver, yet sorrowful.
Timmy … James … Matthew--Sitting alone as the moments passed, he thought about all of the spans of deception. To think that his hot-headed friend was actually the leader of something, was a great puzzle to Beaver.
Bobble the bum--a sentry? Verb-bots? Bibles?--He digested it all slowly, with a high level of bewilderment.
Even with it being the next decision day, this was all so new to him. He knew that had to get more answers today, real answers to all his many questions. The reason was because it was affecting every facet of his miserable life, especially his job performance. He could not slack off, not now or ever. If he did, it would be a glaring red flag to all of the Elitist powers, and jeopardize not only his life but the entire Schism as well.
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