Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

  “Ok … let’s call our meeting to order, there is much to talk about the new promotion cycle beginning shortly …” Mercurial stated as he began.

  Everyone quickly seated on the more pleasurable Lev-chairs that were already in place. Beaver was far too preoccupied with new thoughts to be concerned with any meeting or promotions.

  Me … Beaver2416--An Elite?!--Beaver contemplated with bewilderment. This was certainly something that he had strived for. To be rich with Goldpence and having the freedom of a status change, was a dream of everyone in Westbrook. His days would suddenly be filled with luxury and power. With becoming an Elite, it also meant that he would have a new work-job linked to his Bio-mark. Instead of a Hachiman, he would probably be a Sub-visor. His lights would be spent telling everyone what to do on his production line—without violence or rage-filled demonstrations. Or, even something better, like working in the offices or perhaps a transfer out of Perpetua. He would never have to physically hurt anyone ever again, unless he truly wanted to.

  A Lev-cycle … yeah!--Beaver mused with childish lust.

  He could suddenly acquire all of the things, that he had been denied and banned from having.

  All of the latest technology! To live in New Dresden in a Pent-ion!--His brain swelled with the ideas of covetousness and lasciviousness. He could simply forget about his trips to the caves and his conversion. These trips of secrecy were but passing fads in his infantile search for identity. This however, was real power.

  He could live like a king, and make all of the Selects his subjects to control!

  He would be the Imperator of Neo-Hedonism and do whatever he wanted!

  Then all of a sudden, like great lights piercing the darkness; he reflected upon the G.M. and his screened prison.

  “No …” Beaver quickly snapped to himself in consideration.

  These high and lofty ideals were poisonous. Christian or no Christian, this was far against everything that he had ever stood for. It made him even sicker than before, that he had allowed his mind to sink to such depths. All his actions were now reflected to so many. To have such selfish goals, could mean that others would be hurt in the process. A compromise of mentality could lead many to suffer.

  He had to be an Elite, nothing was going to change that.

  Once an Acad decision was made, it was basically set in stone. However, for the sake of the Schism and his own life; he had to be a smart Elite--much, much more cunning and secretive than before. He decided that next decision day, when it was safe; he would ask more about the Elite woman that was infused right next to him.

  What did she do to keep them from knowing for so long, and how did she get discovered?--Beaver contemplated with voracity.

  “… Now--Beaver2416 here, without Elite status has continued for spans; running with efficiency our Kino-Lev lines—stopping any insubordination or lackadaisical throughput--and has increased production Two Hundred and Sixty Five percent since the beginning of his tenure! There is no reason that YOU Marcus--and YOU Stanton cannot do a fraction of the same!” Mercurial resounded with an angered tone, wagging his finger at two of the Elites for lack of production.

  This railing and mention of his name brought Beaver back to reality. This was another reason why deep down Beaver hated the Academy. Elites usually only received a stern talking-to for their misdeeds--Selects received great injury or death. Beaver could only slightly shake his head in disgust, as he watched the dainty duo shed tears and plead for forgiveness.

  “… that’s one of the main reasons that soon, he is to have his status upgraded! And, I have a real good mind to have you both downgraded to take his place!” Mercurial continued, screaming at the frantically repentant busy-bodies.

  It seemed to Beaver almost empowering to see Elites berated and himself praised. This sort of power was something that he had to keep in check at all times, in fear of self-corruption. To live as an Elite and concurrently embrace hidden virtue was going to be hard. They would expect him to attend their droll parties and galas in celebration of whatever they made up to celebrate. Everything was used as an excuse to congregate and imbibe. Sometimes, their Elitist gatherings would be incensed with mid-ancient pharmaceuticals. And, as they binged throughout the dark, the only point of stoppage would be when one would fall over dead. Such avarice and selfishness was far, far from any sort of moralistic stance made by the underground dwellers. Beaver’s greatest fear was for him to fall victim to their indulgent devices, and become just as much of an abomination as they were.

  As the meeting wore on, Beaver continued to ponder upon the threat of lascivious carnality overwhelming him. The word Elite continued to pulsate in his head. It was as if they were great barbs of plat-steel, dragging him ever closer to the opening of the chasm leading to hell. His mental duality felt as if it was raging against itself in a battle of futility.

  Just then, Beaver thought of something that verb-bot had read to him, the second time he went to the complex (after its major linguistic upgrades). It was one of the ancient songs written in Matthew’s book: “… Behold, these are the ungodly, who prosper in the world; they increase in riches… Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down into destruction… How are they brought into desolation, as in a moment!”

  This small portion of the hope of the Academy’s annihilation set Beaver’s mind at ease, as he continued wallowing in professional boredom.

  The meeting went on for at least 2 more procs; after all of the blubbering from the scolded Elites. Beaver, like everyone else in the room; wanted for it to hurry up and leave, like an unwanted guest. None of the squawking banter was anything new.

  More production…

  More output…

  Less friction…

  The same redundant catchphrases and the same mindless reason: “For the good of the G.M. and the Academy.”

  If they only knew their god is dead, and his presence is merely a hologram--Beaver casually thought.

  Deep down, he desired to tell them all someday; in hopes that people would revolt. However, this light certainly was not the time.

  “Now … Beaver2416. We need you to appear on the Marlin pro-tem programme, exactly two merits from today at 13:50. The Academy needs you to tell about the new fork-lev technology, for the upcoming season and nothing more. We need you to act charming, dazzle them, and say specifically ‘quote–It can pick up a building!–end quote.’ This will be the tag line used for further promotion for the entire season.” Mercurial relayed, as he continued remediating the electron-communique sent directly from the G.M.’s council.

  “Yes sir … I will do my best for the Edict!”--Beaver bellowed with a fake haughtiness.

  “Remember what rests upon all of this”--Mercurial said sternly, looking directly at Beaver.

  Beaver could only nod in agreement.

  “Alright then--If there are no more matters of business … I will call this meeting--” Mercurial said, pausing mid-sentence.

  One of the chieftains of the Acad-guard suddenly appeared in the door way.

  “I am sorry to interrupt your meeting Overlord… But these are very pressing matters.” The soldier loudly barked just inside of the threshold.

  Mercurial lifted his hand, motioning him to come forward.

  As he walked, the room was filled with stifled chatter among the Elites.

  “Silence!” Mercurial yelled, as the man drew close to Mercurial’s ear.

  The crowd quickly hushed, knowing that whatever it was, it must be serious.

  With his front position in the room, Beaver could plainly hear what was whispered between them, as they stood attentively on the other side of the Lev-desk. He made sure not to make eye contact, as he listened. It would be dangerous to let on in any way that he was privy to their conversation.

  “Two of our Men watched a suspicious vagrant enter an abandoned building in Stowelowly, and on a whim they followed him. They proceeded to question him about his doings, in accordance wit
h the Edict. He then resisted and fought with our men--regrettably, the vagrant escaped saying nothing. However, they found this on the ground in the aftermath”--The chieftain quietly told.

  He then stealthy held up a strange object, so Mercurial could see.

  Beaver slowly tilted his head to view this mystery.

  As he caught a glimpse, his eyes greatly widened.

  His heart suddenly swelled with intense panic, knowing what it was.

  Bobble’s electromagnet! The key to the complex! NO!--Beaver shouted in his mind.

  His breath quickened in fright, as the soldier continued—

  “This prompted our troops to do a full search of the building and surrounding area. Upon thorough inspection, our men found a small entrance, into what looks like a cave system… under an old washing vessel. Our troops have taken search-techs and full military regalia, exploring it now as we speak. And, we are still searching the surrounding area for the suspect in question.”--He stated quietly, with a salute at the end.

  Mercurial nodded with a look of concern upon his face.

  “Good--keep me posted of your findings. SdotG.” he said, with a half-hearted salute in return.

  The soldier then turned and quickly jetted out the doorway.

  Beaver could only sit motionless trying to produce every drop of sociopathic might he could muster. The slightest flinch or eye position could give away everything.

  He was so close to Mercurial … too close.

  The infinitesimal amount of flicker in his personality could cause alert. He clinched every muscle in his body tightly, trying to keep from moving. He wanted to scream and run like a scared girl in the presence of a spy-hopper. He was frightened now more than ever. Much more than in his ordeal with Matthew’s book, he was terrified for his life as well as the others

  They are in the caves! I have to warn them!--he screeched in his wearied mind.

  “Beaver2416! You look very uncomfortable--why?”--Mercurial quipped, as he pointed directly at him with a look of inquisition.

  Beaver quickly grasped the sides of the Lev-seat trying not to leap and run in sheer frenzy.

  “The--The meeting.” Beaver squeaked in a very frail tone.

  “Oh--oh yes. I forgot. Production has ended and I have kept you long enough. You are all dismissed.” Mercurial said, with a batting of his hand in release.

  He then turned away to look at the holoscreen, for any sign of new troop activity. Beaver could only exhale very softly, with his blessed sociopathy trying to make him act normal. It was as if all of his blood had spilled out onto the floor, and he had left his body. His lip trembled uncontrollably, as he seemingly lost all consciousness. After a few ticts, with his mind presumably being mechanized; Beaver jumped up from his Lev-chair. He then quickly weaved between the Elites, slowly filing out the door.

  Some of them could not help but giggle, as they fully saw Beaver for the first time; since his dreadful cosmo-bot makeover. However, he could not make a single sound or motion in retaliation.

  Because of the massive shock in the office, at that moment he was merely existing on automatic pilot. His inner mentality knew that he had to get away as quickly as possible. It was not only for his sake, but he had to somehow warn the others before it was too late. How this was to happen however, his auto-pilot had not a single clue.

  He burst forth out of the offices of Perpetua. And, on sight of the crowded transports Beaver suddenly came back to reality. Air quickly filled his lungs, like in the passing of a mid-ancient asthma attack. He coughed greatly and prostrated forward, stumbling down the steps towards a nearby hand rail. He acted drunken, staggering slowly towards the transports. His mouth was suddenly filled with echoed grunts and groans. It was like he had reverted back to some sort of primal form. Many of the onlookers made hand gestures, as if he had his fill of synth-liquor. With the styling of his hair and face, one would have no problem thinking such.

  Beaver let out a loud and unintelligible howl, as he began pushing and shoving his way onto a passing transport. He had to get on, regardless of personal injury. Far too many lives were at stake. He knew that he could not set his heart upon the hope of Bobble or anyone else, warning Morgan and the others. In his mind, he kept the thought pulsating that Bobble was already dead and he was the only one that could save them.

  “But how--” Beaver vocalized as he took his seat on one of the transports.

  Other passengers gave him odd glances at such an outburst. Coming back to his rational self, he wondered how he would get past all of the Acad-soldiers. They were certainly on a high mode of alert, ready to kill anyone who seemed out of place.

  “Oh my--” Beaver whispered to himself.

  If there was anyone who seemed out of place--it was him.

  He had to do something quickly, before the stop in Stowelowly. One step off of the transport with the ghastly look he bore, would set off a thousand alarms if such existed. Looking all around in panic, he suddenly noticed the grime, caked on the transport floor. It was left behind from the Nobles and their unsanitary, pestilent jobs earlier that day. Realizing what he needed to do; Beaver closed his eyes, and held his breath for a moment.

  For the Revilers—he thought.

  He suddenly crouched down, and began to wipe his hands upon the floor. He then ran them throughout his bright colored hair. He straitened and relaxed each and every curl and spike, to a look of sheer nastiness. Then he swathed his face and oversuit in the dank smelling filth. His purpled cheek was now blackened with grimy defilement. He had to greatly refrain from throwing up and contributing to the rotting scum on the floor. Some of the nearby patrons had looks of disgust come over them, while others clearly thought that he was insane. Swipe after swipe, Beaver converted himself from a foppish clown for the Academy to a lowly vagabond, with the smell to match.

  As the transport warbled along with his new camouflage in tow, Beaver tried hard to think of the most logical modus operandi. The dugout and its washtub entrance was far from out of question. There was no more passage through the caves that could be performed, no matter where in the system he entered. There could already be literally thousands of troops, searching throughout the massive subterranean area. In this time of enormous weight upon Beaver’s heart, the only form of solace he could find is the electromagnet thingy.

  If an Acad-major had it to show Mercurial on the surface--they couldn’t be using it at the same time in the caves--He logically deduced.

  They probably don’t know what it’s even used for—Beaver contemplated with slight release. This lingering idea in Beaver’s mind gave him hope of an early warning.

  All of a sudden, he had a stark revelation.

  The Shop!--Beaver ravenously thought, as his eyes brightened.

  Bobble sternly warned him of the risks involved in using the shop hov-vator, but he knew that it was his only chance of making it in time. However, with the Acad-guard on high alert and all their weaponized playthings activated--to make it there was not going to be easy.

  Chapter 16:

  As Stowelowly began to breach the gaze of Beaver2416, his heart began to flutter in great anxiety. Troops were literally everywhere, going in and out of every crumbling building. Each one had a dunner loaded, and fitted to side of their hammersack. They stood ready to eradicate anyone at a moment’s notice. Beaver was overwhelmed with fear by what he saw next, as they came closer to the trackstop. They were scanning everyone with large bio-tracers, which beamed an orange hue of light at every passing transport. This made Beaver even more afraid. These scanners immediately could tell who someone is and where they should be. The troops watching the small holo-porta would know that he belonged in Westbrooke, not Stowelowly regardless of any disguise he wore.

  Suddenly, the thought reoccurred to him of Mercurial’s offer. He could forget about everything, and live out his days in luxury. “Does all this really matter?” Beaver thought with an uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. This was a dichotomy of wills. On one
hand there was the glory of self, to dwell in opulence and luscious gluttony. On the other there was selflessness, to deny himself for the good of others. That one single step off of the transport was seemingly a gateway between worlds. If he made that step, everything would radically change forever. If he didn’t, he would still have great change take place in his life. Regardless if he stepped or not, his action or lack thereof, meant that his fate was forever sealed.

  The transport motioned ever closer to the orange light. Beaver’s breath and heartbeat quickened rapidly. Once he was scanned, either he would stay or quickly bolt, hoping for the best. Suddenly, the transport stopped and the beam started at the front. It slowly began scanning, moving toward Beaver. It was mere ticts before the troops would see his bio information on the holo-porta.

  What am I going to do!?--Beaver shouted in his mind.

  Without warning, a person’s head appeared from a building near the track street.

  “You looking for me? Ha!” the figure bellowed in a loud voice.

  It was Bobble!

  Shouts and finger points from Acad-troops, reverberated throughout the atmosphere. The military faction suddenly scrambled and began filing into the building. The sound of dunner ammo whizzing by the rotting window filled the air. In the commotion, Beaver noticed as the orange light engulfed him, that the soldiers monitoring the holo-porta had looked away to see what was happening. In that moment he held his breath, and by faith--he suddenly made his fate’s choice.

  With his head down, Beaver quickly stepped off of the immobile transport, and briskly began to hobble down the pathway towards the bazaar. He stepped hunched with a swagging gait, to appear diseased like most of the Humbles in Stowelowly. In all of the spans of deception and lies towards the Academy, this was his greatest role ever performed. With each foot placement, he felt as if it were a mid-ancient minefield, and he could meet his doom with any misstep. As he moved down the path, he suddenly heard the sound of the transport starting up again. He could only hold his breath, waiting for the sound of an alarm or a dunner’s blow to his back.