The transport hummed much louder and went faster than usual. This was of course, due to the fact of less weight to carry. It had gone so quickly, that when Beaver had finally looked up from his deep thoughts, he was almost into Stowelowly. In the distance, he could see Bobble in all his pestilent fashion standing by the trackstreet. He was talking to someone, which was dressed in the same level of filth as Bobble. As the people mover, materialized into their view, the hidden person suddenly walked away. Beaver could not tell if he had seen them before in the underground city or not. The transport greatly slowed, and abruptly clicked and whirred to a halt.
“Stowelowly--please exit with care.” the mechanized driver said.
Beaver stepped off of the transport and stood still, not really knowing what to do yet.
When the transport zoomed away, Bobble slowly approached.
“No time to talk … run away from me--to the Bazaar. Go inside and look around at all the murals.”--Bobble said in a muffled tone—“Act like you forgot something--go outside--and then casually walk towards the Dugout. Make sure you are not seen or followed.”
“Here--wear this, but keep it concealed at all times.” he continued, as he quickly slipped a chain with a crude device attached to it over Beaver’s neck.
“Now—GO! And … I will meet you at the dugout in about a quarter proc.” He continued, as he suddenly regained his fake persona as an annoying street vendor. “Please sir! Only a GP! Please!” he loudly barked, as Beaver obeyed his command and ran towards the Bazaar.
When he finally arrived, there were very few people at the bazaar at this time of light. Much more would be coming very soon, so he had to be fast. Beaver flighted the steps, and entered the crumbling building in a rush. Within a few steps inside, he spun around in wonderment looking at all of the mid-ancient murals engulfing the yellowed walls. It was as if he was an awe-struck tourist of the former time, gawking at what the locals had already seen for decas. He did this for a few ticts, and then made a fake look of surprise come upon his face. Then, he burst forth from the marketplace and paced towards the area of the dugout. As he slowly trotted, he kept turning everyway that he could, looking for spies and followers.
Luckily, there was no one to be seen watching at such an early time.
In mere moments, the dugout and all its decaying glory was clearly in view. Beaver seemed giddy, as he could not wait to enter and begin another adventure. This suddenly reminded him of a well-preserved book at the Archive of Fact. It was about something called “a castaway.” This term delighted Beaver, because it meant to him non-Academy. He always thought that it would be better to be alone on a deserted island, than to ever look at the Elites and their pompous frills ever again. To him, this place of caves and secrecy had become his deserted place of refuge; and he would be happy to stay there and never return. Beaver quickly pressed the sequence of 6-3-1-8-2 upon the illuminated lock. The lock snapped open, and as promised, when he entered, Bobble was standing there idle.
“What took you so long?” Bobble snarked.
Beaver could only roll his eyes in disgust.
“Come on now--there is much more to show you.” Bobble said in a hurried tone, pointing towards the small bathroom. Beaver entered, and as expected the door slammed shut and locked behind him as the stained tub arose. With a sense of familiarity, Beaver followed after Bobble without hesitation. After a few rungs down, he again pushed the shovel, sticking out of the side of the rock wall.
This time it was without instruction.
“Good … the boy’s learning.” Bobble sarcastically murmured in the darkness, before the light array turned on.
Again, Beaver rolled his eyes in disgust as he descended.
He was more than half way down when the lights brightened the cave. This time Beaver seemed somewhat disappointed, as he looked around from his high-up position. His mental caves were much larger and much craggier, than in reality. The first viewing of this secret place was met with great child-like wonder. However upon a second sight, he saw just a dank cave system deep in the earth, dull and lifeless.
“A cave is a cave … get used to it.” Bobble rudely quipped, as Beaver set his feet upon the rocky Earth. They walked together through the cave with its many natural formations, with an air of great tension. As they went past the milk truck and all of the remnants of yesteryear, they continued to have an uncomfortable silence between them.
Suddenly--Beaver could take it no more.
“Why are you being so rude?! I haven’t done anything to you.” Beaver huffed, as they walked.
Bobble stirred with a stiff upper-lip. He was obviously upset about something.
“You watch your family and your friend’s blood spattered about … watch your mom’s brains get blown out while Academy soldiers laughed, and just see how cynical and rude you would become.”--Bobble snarled, not even breaking his stride.
Beaver paused for a moment and thought hard about what was said.
“It was at the Arena … wasn’t it?” Beaver said with soothing calm.
Bobble could only drop his head, as he stopped walking.
“It happened today … didn’t it?” Beaver vocalized with a look great concern.
Suddenly painful tears began to drop from Bobble’s eyes, as he began to speak with great hesitation in his voice:
“Yes--it started today. I was 6 spans old, and I was there. The Arena … the Abstersion--I saw everything. I ducked from all the soldiers … I was quick--I was a little runt.”—he scoffs—“I didn’t know where to go—what to do. So, I hid in an upper balcony and watched it all. What I saw will never leave me … NEVER.”
“All of the wailing and screaming--the blood spewing everywhere--and the laughter. Always--the laughter! They laughed every time that someone was MURDERED! It was like--they felt like--they were doing favors or something good—for the good of everyone. They had looks of joy—you hear me?—JOY UPON THEIR FACES!”
With anger—“I saw little children--most of them smaller than me--being snatched away from mother’s arms. And, those innocent little … little children watched just a few riegers away, the splattering of blood, gushing from their parent’s head.”
“I watched women hanged, by dragging them tied to the backs of trench movers. And when their throats would finally tear apart--they would run them over—I saw their seizures and vomiting blood on the ground.
“I saw men being beaten like sar-rats with clubs. Others were electro-tortured in the stands to the point of praying for death--only to watch their chest burst with a cascade of gore, as they shot each one of them.”
“There were old men and women screaming in prayer, being bayonetted and decapitated—over and over—as they smiled. And, then after they killed them all--they pissed on their lifeless bodies. They pissed--on my grandmother’s body!”
“And the older children … the ones they called unsalvageable. They would tie them together--at least 8 at a time--around their throats; making their heads touch. To see—to see which weapon could kill the most with one shot to the skull, in some sort of sick game.”
“SAVAGE BASTARDS!”
“I WATCHED IT ALL!”
“I SAW ALL THE BLOOD FLYING THROUGH THE AIR!”
“I HEARD THEIR PRIMAL, EAR-PIERCING SCREAMS!”
“I HEARD THEIR HOWLING PRAYERS TO JESUS CHRIST …”
His shouts of anger echoed violently throughout the caves, in so much their reverberation greatly pained Beaver’s ears. Bobble suddenly stopped from his retelling of unspeakable horror. He closed his eyes and dropped his head even lower than before.
“I’m sorry … that was wrong of me. I’m so sorry”--Bobble solemnly stated, wiping away his tears. After a few moments, he regained his composure and calmly continued his speech:
“An Acad-major spotted me in the stands and quickly brought me here to the caves. He was a great father to me, and was one of us … up until the day he died. He taught me to never seek vengeance for the past … and
he was right. You cannot undo what has been done.”
“But… it still hurts.” Beaver interrupted.
Bobble sighed greatly as he lifted his head to look at Beaver.
“Aye … It does. And, that hurt never leaves. But, you can keep it from consuming and controlling your life--And with that, we must be going.” Bobble barked, as he turned and quickened his pace towards the direction of the limestone wall.
Beaver could only pause in contemplation, trying to digest everything that was said.
“Are you coming!?” Bobble snapped, as he was far ahead.
Beaver silently shook his head in the affirmative, as he too quickened his pace.
Soon, they were standing at the base of the massive limestone wall. Nothing more was said between them for the entire trip through the caves. Beaver was afraid that Bobble might emotionally break down again costing them more precious time, so he did not speak.
“Ok … we’re here. You know the routine.” Bobble said as he slipped on his hand the small magnet device. Beaver could only nod in acknowledgement, still refraining from speech. Bobble place his hand upon the wall and began to walk backwards. The massive slab rumbled and opened. Beaver then ran inside, and in a tict after his hand’s release, Bobble did the same. The door quickly shut and the air lock engaged. With no hesitation, Beaver reached over to the crude controls and pressed the Red button. In their ascent to the complex, Beaver could only stare at Bobble, who sat on the floor in great sorrow.
How much pain can one person bear?--Beaver thought. For the first time, he truly felt empathy in that someone could have a greater struggle, a greater burden than what he has carried. In his sociopathic arrogance, he felt as if no one else in the world could hurt more than he has. Beaver realized that he was greatly wrong, and for that he felt a true remorse.
“I’m sorry about your family--that must have been the most horrible thing that anyone could experience.” Beaver said in an awkward tone, not knowing what to say.
“It was--and now it’s over.” Bobble stated as he slowly stood to his feet, knowing that the old hydraulic platform was about to stop. With a large puff of air, the braking mechanism engaged and they stopped their upward motion. Within ticts, the doorway before them unlocked and opened revealing once again a city of wonders.
Beaver, remembering what happened last time; outstretched his hand in subtle invitation.
“After you …” Beaver said with a smile. Bobble walked towards the threshold and turned his head.
“Heathen!” Bobble barked with a chuckle, as he walked by.
Standing just outside of the tube, on a wooden crate of newly harvested radishes was Morgan. He had a peaceable and friendly candor that was much different than last time.
“Good … you made it.” Morgan spoke, with his hands raised to greet them. He was exceedingly jolly, much like seeing an old friend after many spans. This made Beaver very uneasy, although he did not show it outwardly. It made him feel as if Morgan and the rest were just drawing him in, so they could pounce with a given command.
“Hello … I think.” Beaver vocalized with a hint of vinegar.
Morgan beamed a great smile, as he jumped down from the crate. He then, motioned for the duo to follow him. The two did as they were told, however Beaver trailed somewhat to the back. He was ready to bolt, if he needed to. As they walked past the infirmary towards the sea of junked electronics, Beaver could not take it anymore.
“Why are you so happy today?!” Beaver snorted with a bit of arrogance. He really didn’t know why Morgan’s enthusiasm and pep annoyed him, but it did greatly.
“Oh Beaver … you need to lighten up. You have gone through your entire life with eyes that cannot see and ears that cannot hear. You need a Spiritual operation.” Morgan stated, still with a smile on his face.
Beaver suddenly stopped his walking, with a perturbed look.
“What in New Judah does all that mean!?” he squawked with frustration.
“You’ll find out soon enough …” Bobble quipped sternly, getting in on the conversation.
Blind eyes!? … Deaf Ears!? … An operation!?--This made Beaver feel even more uneasy. It was like someone was waiting around the corner of one of the massive piles to attack him, and strap him to a Lev-table to be experimented on. He suddenly slowed his pace to the point of barely moving forward, and looking in every direction.
Bobble and Morgan stopped with bellows of laughter.
“Oh come on! Beaver … We are only messing with you!” Morgan said, still with a jovial tone.
“Boy … you have got a lot to learn.” Bobble said, still with a giggle.
Beaver rolled his eyes and said his favorite word with enthusiasm—
“Heathen!”
“Exactly, Bobble. Just like that--do you even know what that word means?” Morgan questioned as he looked directly at Beaver.
“I know it’s a bad word--evil, I think.” Beaver said.
He had never given it much thought. The origins of words was something that he certainly was not skilled in.
“What is it then?” he scrutinized, still with a slight acid.
“The word ‘heathen’ comes from the Old English ‘hǣthen’ and it means someone who does not believe in or follow God. Or more correctly, someone who rejects the God mentioned in Matthew’s leather book.” Morgan said with scholarly authority—“The ‘heathens’ were historically (and still are) the enemies of the one true God, who wanted to reject God and worship and serve their own false, man-made, and evil gods.”
Beaver paused at this saying, and deeply thought about it.
“So … the Great Master is a Heathen?” Beaver said in contemplation.
“Yes … and all that follow him.” Bobble firmly stated with assurance.
This statement made Beaver smile greatly. To think that his secret word, was actually a word of blasphemy against the G.M. delighted him and filled his mind with ease.
“Did Tim … I mean Matthew know what that word meant as well?” Beaver said with a serenity.
“Yes. And he also knew its meaning by another word …” Morgan told.
Beaver’s eyes widened with anticipation.
“--The word is ‘pagan.’” Morgan said.
Beaver’s smile slowly left him as he thought about this new word. His mind was suddenly flooded with a memory from the bunker. His father used that word many times, standing in front of that crude wooden stand that held the large book.
All of a sudden, Beaver blurted out without thinking—
“A Snake! My father talked about a snake and a garden!”
Morgan grinned at such an outburst.
“I see that you know more than we thought …” Bobble stated with surprise.
“Verb-bot … Parse manuscript 0001--and come over here.” Morgan called, as he took his place at his Lev-desk.
“Please take a seat …” he beckoned with an outstretched hand.
The two, with the help of Verb-bot; then proceeded to tell Beaver much more about snakes, pagans, heathens, God, leather books and bunkers.
Chapter 13:
As the moments tict away, Beaver became increasingly agitated.
“So … you are telling me that my father was a minster and he had a book like Matthew’s? And, he was the leader of the ‘Revilers’ and his work paved the way for all of you … the Schism?” Beaver said with much cynical questioning and doubt.
“Yes … and the word is ‘minister,’ not ‘minster.’” Bobble quipped with a haggard tone.
“Your father was a great man of God. Most of us regard him as the last Apostle of the old world.” Morgan vocalized, with a scholarly tone.
“What’s an Apostle?” Beaver questioned, still agitated at all the bombardment of things he did not understand.
Morgan could only roll his eyes and dismiss such a question.
“Would you like to see and hear what kind of person your father was?” Morgan told with a smirk upon his face.
At first Beaver shook off such impossibility. He felt inside that it was contrary to all reason, that anything from his father could exist. But, for curiosities sake, he soon conceded with a head nod.
Without a word, Morgan then produced a rudimentary viewing device from one of the drawers of his Lev-desk. He sat it on top of the desk and took its long, brownish power cord and shoved it into a power receptacle attached to the side of the modified Lev-desk. He then, attached a slender silver cable to the side of the strange device. The other end of the cable, had a dusty board with push buttons that had numbers and letters etched on top. With a button press, the mysterious device illuminated and crackled like fire. Morgan then, pressed a sequence of keystrokes… and all of a sudden, there he was. It was Beaver’s father, standing behind the wooden stand. He had on strange clothing that covered him from head to toe. He had blackened shoes, black pants, and a fancy coat with only three buttons, that had vertical stripes going up and down his frame. Beaver marveled at such an odd, reddish fabric that was hanging from his neck. It was clasped to his whited shirt with a golden clipping device.
“How can he breathe with that around his neck?” Beaver spoke dumbfounded.
Morgan laughed out loud at such child-like nonsense.
“They were called neckties, and for the time … quite fashionable.” Morgan stated, still chuckling.
As he listened and peered hard at this moving image of the past, Beaver suddenly had another memory of his days in the bunker. He remembered that his father usually had a bright light surrounding him, every time he stood at the crude stand. He remembered that same hue of light in his days as a cheerleader for the Academy. These blinding rays of amber were always present at every holopram interview and performance he did. Beaver sat in silence trying to put these pieces and images of the past together. Morgan and Bobble equally remained silent, obviously because they wanted him to figure it all out for himself.
“That’s why the Academy chose me over everyone else to be their poster child--I was their trophy--their prized example, the son of the chief of the Revilers.” Beaver said with downcast eyes, coming to such a horrid epiphany.
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