Beaver2416 … The son of Robert, the minister of God; had finally come home.
Chapter 14:
The new light, again shone through the small porthole window of the sleep chamber. As the vessel whirred into its upright positioning, Beaver reluctantly arose. He was still euphorically high from his grand experiences yesterday. He wanted to so badly stay in the underground complex, but both Morgan and he knew, that action would put everyone in jeopardy. A Westbrookian Hachiman with the level of clout that he had, would not be easily dismissed. They would scour under every rock throughout Westbrook and Stowelowly, until their secret was discovered and everyone, including Beaver was destroyed. He knew far too much about the Academy’s movements, procedures, and their technology--such as the Kino-lev to be forgotten. In short, Beaver was far from expendable, he was dangerous.
His autostraps loosened and he was met with the same tired greeting as always. Before, it was met with a hint of pleasantry; but now it simply agitated him. His eyes were now fully opened and he could see with great clarity. He could feel, now more than ever; that this mechanized world surrounding him that was created for a false master was nothing more than a prison. And in this fabrication, he was nothing more than another incarcerated dweller. He hated the Academy and all its sadistic glory and ideals, more so today than ever before. However, deep in his heart he somehow felt sorry for everyone, even the Elites. As if all the masses were unsuspecting victims, of something they could not control. This new feeling inside was so strange and mysterious to him.
After his conversion, Morgan told Beaver many more things, before he had to find his place on a passing transport to Westbrook. Why certain things were not relayed until that time, was simply because he would not believe them. Or, at least he would still have inner doubts about them. A mind and heart filled with doubt and speculation was something they could not afford to reveal their secrets to.
Morgan told the story of Harvey Damron and how he came to be the Great Master. This Beaver already knew in detail, as it was drilled into his head from the very moments of his capture. However, what he did not know was; every address, plastered on every progscreen throughout all the Acad-lands was a holographic lie. The G.M. had been dead for at least 10 spans, and these proclamations were nothing more than severely edited, archived materials. When he told him that, Beaver could only smile with a beaming glow. Beaver knew it was unquestionably true, because he had made the connection spans ago. This was due to the fact, he figured out that the G.M. would always wear the same seven outfits.
The Academy of course, would digitally alter their potentate’s clothing--move a pocket from the left to the right, change a shade of color--but Beaver knew it was the same. His sociopathy had given him an acute attention to details. Plus, seeing someone three times a day, (except for decision days) made for an easy time to notice any non-conformity. He had never told anyone of what he had discovered, not even Michael. If ever he could ever fully expose these facts, of both the G.M.’s death and their constant broadcasting of lies; everything that the Academy held in their grip would suddenly come crashing down.
“Good light to you Beaver2416! There is your lightfast … enjoy!”--The victual android stated.
He had finally made it up the hallway, after all his usual, boring morning rituals. This light, the small countertop bore for him a waffy bar. The sight of this scrunched foodstuff made Beaver giggle inside. Waffy bars were nothing more than protein-laden candy, in a small ingot formation. To see such a non-protocol item before him at lightfast, was perceived as a hope that the victual android was becoming more like Morgan’s Verb-bot.
Maybe Viki found Jesus too--Beaver laughed to himself.
As he sat on the uncomfortable stool and chewed his sticky delight, Beaver suddenly had a profound thought. Soon, it was going to be the lightmorn address, and he had to salute the Great Imposter on the progscreen. This was against everything that he had learned from Morgan and Matthew’s book. Also, it stood as a contra position to all that he felt deep within his heart.
What am I going to do?--Beaver thought hard, as the glib smile left his face. For him to refuse was death, and every ounce of potential he had with it. But for him to conform; felt as if he was betraying the true God himself. Just then, he remembered one of the scripture texts that he heard from Verb-bot. Peering into space, Beaver could not help but vocalize the very first word—
“One …”
Just then, the android turned around and stated with a stern voice—
“Yes … ONE! You are only getting ONE!”
Beaver could not stop from smiling.
“Yes Viki … I know. Thank you for everything.” he said calmly, quickly realizing what he was going to do about the morning address.
The android slightly shook with awkwardness, not knowing how to process his calm demeanor. It suddenly poured another cup of synth-fee for Beaver and returned to its work without a single word. Beaver had to greatly restrain himself from letting go and laughing out loud.
As expected, before he could eat all of his Waffy bar, Academicis meis, mi Adoráte began to play and the progscreen turned on. The victual android spun around and lifted its mechanical arms in the air. Beaver did the same, only this time it was slightly different.
He turned slightly from the vantage of his robotic warden. Then, with his right hand he fully extended his index finger. In Beaver’s mind this was an act of defiance, signifying one true God; rather than giving any glory to the false hologram on the progscreen. Beaver’s face hardened towards the G.M. as he spoke. More than ever, his heart was filled with seething hatred towards worshipping falsehoods. His one finger extended meant that he would never fully conform or believe in anything that the Academy told him ever again.
“TO HELL with the Great Master! TO HELL with the Edict!”–
Beaver screamed in his mind as he glared incessantly. He felt as if he was standing before an ancient idol of stone or wood, and being urged at knifepoint to prostrate himself in obeisance to it.
“I WILL NOT BOW!” He screamed again in his mind.
Beaver exhaled in release as the progscreen again turned black.
“SdotG” The android called, and then turned to look at Beaver.
With a stiff lip he muttered, “SdotG” and lowered his hands, hiding his conduct of treason with it. However, he slowly smiled as he returned to his Waffy bar. To Beaver, “SdotG” had rapidly morphed into something else. Instead of the tired line—
“Strength, Discipline, Order … my word is Truth, my word is God;”
It suddenly became in his mind—
Somebody Doesn’t Obey The Garbage.
This idea pleased him greatly.
With his victuals devoured, Beaver ran and leaped past the threshold of his house to the pathway below. There were several people walking, who suddenly jetted out of the way at such foolishness. They seemed startled and afraid that he would knock them over. Beaver could only smile at their rude looks and head-shaking scoffs. He seemed giddy, like he had never felt before. This light, he felt as if he could conquer the world without a single regard for the Academy. However, there was something in his heart and mind that called for restraint, for the sake of his new friends.
“I need to act defeated--just like before.” Beaver whispered to himself. For him to walk slumped and with a melancholy of servitude, was now going to be very hard to do. His inner chains had fallen, and with them; his internal sense of brokenness and humiliation. He was no longer an Acad-slave. He was no longer their stooge to control. And, to suddenly re-obtain those shackles post facto was going to be his greatest acting role ever.
Beaver pushed and shoved the crowd, clamoring to snag a seat on the current transport. He forced his way to the middle and took a seat. Then, he turned with a ghastly sneer at the people standing idle, still hoping to get on. He wanted to say “I’m sorry” to all of the ones he pushed, but that would be very out of character for him. To do anything abnormal could cause
an alert in someone’s mind, and for Beaver it was suicidal. There was still a long-standing reward for any information regarding a resistance or fringe group standing against the Edict. Also, with the recent robbery at the Archive of Fact, people had their eyes and ears open to everything, standing ready to pounce. Much more than the showering of GP’s, there was that prevailing dream of having one’s status reconsidered and possibly becoming an Elite. He had to be careful and think hard about every action he made, with each passing tict.
As the transport made its usual trek, Beaver was engrossed with the consideration of what he would do about his workjob. His stature was hulking, and he was feared among the workers of Perpetua. For him to project anything different than a corporate owned savage could mean his annihilation. This mind-numbing thought held him captive all of the way to Stowelowly. Then suddenly, he felt a hand touch his. He quickly snapped back into reality, realizing that it was Bobble.
“S2 E10 …” Bobble quickly whispered, and then turned his attention towards the other passengers. This time he had crunchy Muni-stems to sell. Which are harvested and manufactured from only the finest, listeria-rich septic botanicals. He had obviously gotten them from a local source of waste. This was because they had not been washed or prepared, still covered in blackened mire. The patrons on the transport quickly began migrating to the other side, to escape the stench, lingering in the air. As Bobble continued his barker spiel, trying to coerce someone into coming towards his wretchedness; Beaver thought hard and soon dismissed his puzzling, whispered statement.
Either it was a coded message that would be solved later… or Bobble had eaten much of his wares--he thought with a giggle.
Soon, the transport slowly started up again. Bobble continued to play his part, ignoring Beaver and looking for the next unsuspecting passerby to annoy. As the transport finally sped away, he found himself again in a mode of contemplation. Now more than ever, he didn’t want to hurt anyone. The thought of breaking bones or causing another intense pain, sickened him greatly. He always knew that he was merely the Academy’s chump, and only bent to their will for his own survival. But now, his heart pulsed with feelings of empathy and regret. He certainly did not want anyone to be writhing in agony at Parliament, as he had caused so many others to do. His mind flashed with all of the random faces of the people that he had played a part in destroying. He felt somehow responsible, as if there was something that he could have done differently. However, there was another side of him that knew he was just as caged and controlled as they were, languishing with no way to resist.
After a few moments, the crumbling Arena came into the far-cast gaze of Beaver2416. His thoughts suddenly changed from contemplation to sorrow. He thought again about all the horror that Bobble had told him, when they were in the caves. To endure such abhorrence and absolute enmity, simply because you choose to believe in something different; was beyond evil. It was worthy of the lowest hell.
Before his joyous reclamation, Beaver learned from Morgan of a final judgment--a time in which everyone who ever lived would stand before their creator, and give an account of all they did in their lives. He also said that, only those who in life had surrendered, turned from their evil, and were washed in the water and the blood could escape such a final analysis without retribution. Without a clear understanding, Beaver still believed every word--he had to believe. Everything inside, to the core of his very soul; compelled him to believe. To live and die, inflicting such abomination upon people and never having a single drop of punishment for your un-repented deeds, was to Beaver; far, far worse than the horrid deeds themselves. To him, the Arena and all that was done there, was a testament to such ideology.
“Last stop--Bona Fide. Please exit promptly …” the robotic driver stated.
Its call startled Beaver and seemingly brought him back to reality. He had been so enthralled in his thoughts that he did not realize how far he had travelled. He suddenly jumped to his feet and made a quick exit, like a child caught doing something naughty. Weaving throughout the people, he bounded speedily up the stairs, into the offices of Perpetua.
“Beaver2416 … Yoo Hoo!”
--the same aging Elite from last time (Beaver still doesn’t know their name) said with an outstretched, newly mani-leved hand. Before--this call was a cause for inner rage and disgust. Yet this light, it oddly did not bother him at all.
“Yes sir--and good light to you.” Beaver said cordially, as he walk towards. Again, Mercurial’s advisor was standing idle with a group of foppish busybodies.
“Oh Yes! … Good light as well. Beaver2416 I need you to come to the Overlord’s office at around--say 12:40. More promotions, same old same old”--The advisor balked with a pompous frailty.
“Yes … of course sir. 12:40--I will be there.”--Beaver said nodding with a tonality of dutiful seriousness.
Once again the star-struck group stood motionless, waiting in awe. It was like they were adolescent devotees, receiving a correspondence from a mid-ancient fan club. Beaver spun around and extended his hand with a bow towards them. He followed up such action, with a wink and a glowing smile; as he slowly turned and walked away towards his “rear end” office. The group clapped their hands, as if he had performed a feat of wonder or great strength while they watched him leave. Knowing now, that he was at a safe distance away; all Beaver could do is shake his head and giggle to himself.
Upon entry to his office, strangely the sect-bot was awake and seemingly eager to tell him something.
“Post script received, Beaver2416--Would you like me to read it now?” The android said in an enthusiastic tone. It was a very rare thing to receive any sort of electron-errata or script from anyone. This made Beaver have feelings of insecurity, especially after all that he had been through in the last few days.
“O … OK. Go ahead.” he said with a slight stammer.
“Hello … Beaver2416 you must report to O.L. at 12:10. That is all. End.” The sect-bot quipped in an overtly mechanical sounding reverberation. “Thank you.” Beaver stated with a slight jitter. For Mercurial to want to see him thirty before the meeting, could mean anything.
What does he want?--Beaver thought bothered.
To seemingly be all alone with him, could only conjure up images of that day of Benevolence. That was when he had to drag a man’s lifeless body to the Lev-compacto to be discarded. (Because, Mercurial had discovered the power of Cumal, and crushed his head.) For a man to wield such power disturbed him greatly. And to be alone with such a man, made him very fearful. However, he knew that he could not seem anxious at this early meeting. For him to act like he was troubled by Mercurial’s presence could alert him to something that he was hiding. Today, more than any other; Beaver had to be a sociopath and not just for his own survival. But now, for the survival of the Schism and their way of life.
The sect-bot suddenly lifted its arms in salute as the G.M. appeared on the office progscreen. Beaver reluctantly did the same, and as before, he extended his index finger in defiance. He did this extension merely in habitual perpetuation, because he had already tuned out any words coming from the progscreen. No—not the gleem of his golden effects, or the majesty of the Colossus could cause him to give attention. Not even the glare of his plat-silver crown could make him focus on the G.M’s message. He was far too affixed upon other things. His mind swirled and tossed with thoughts of meetings, and Cumal, and Pagans. This contemplation of mental perplexity carried him throughout the boring rah-rah session.
“Thank God!”--Beaver said out loud with sarcastic agitation, as the progscreen finally dimmed.
Suddenly, he closed his eyes in fright. He could not believe that he had said such a phrase out loud. He stood motionless waiting for a punch or hand slap for his blasphemous outburst—
But nothing …
The antiquated sect-bot then saluted again, with his arms extended.
“Yes, Beaver2416--Thank our God!” the automaton said with conviction.
Beaver could
only nod and extend his arms, trying to restrain from laughing.
Again, he had his finger outstretched in rebellion, of course.
The work signal sounded, and Beaver clad with his effects, went through the side door to the production floor. This light, he felt more observant than ever. Before, his workjob was a humdrum reciprocity of the same actions and reactions. But, today he could not help but stand and watch the flow of production like never before.
The placement of a dia-sha …
The spacing of the trim …
The polishing of the Lev-housing …
The careful mixing of acids and isotopes …
After his grand experience, it suddenly seemed as if everything was information that could be used against the Academy. Even though he had seen all the processes for spans; today it seemed like this was the first time that he was actually learning from it. He wanted to absorb everything he saw and tell his new friends, much rather than hurt people. However, deep down Beaver knew that he could not stop his brand of violence. He had to continue his farce and cause havoc upon anyone that slacked in their duties. Or, there would be nothing to learn, except for death.
As he stood idle, Beaver noticed an older worker that kept wiping his face and was slowing down production. Normally, he would have yanked him by the arm immediately. But, today Beaver kept waiting, hoping that he would speed up. It was as if he was cheering for him mentally, trying to pep him up. Suddenly, the man grabbed his chest and winced in pain. Others on the production line began to carefully look at him, and it brought production to a halt. Beaver knew that he had to do something, even if he felt it was wrong. He grabbed the worker by the arm, and led him out the door towards the screen.
“Stopping production is against the Edict!” Beaver shouted as he led him clumsily out the back door of the production area. He then tossed him into the electrified barrier. All of a sudden, he was filled with immense remorse and regret that pained him. For the first time, he was truly sorry for what he had just done. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. And now after his ordeal in the caves, he realized what kind of monster that he really was. He despised and hated himself, now much more than ever before. As the man laid on the ground, Beaver was overwhelmed with intense emotion.
Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) Page 18