Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray)

by Thayer, Jeremy M.

  Did they notice me?--Beaver thought with macabre.

  For him to meet his end now, would mean that everything was in vain. After a few more wobbled steps and several ticts of agony, he slowly retracted knowing that for now he was safe. However, his few breath filled moments of safety were soon dashed as he caught a glimpse of the Bazaar before him.

  The Bazaar was overrun with troops, mar-bots, and mechanized sentries scrutinizing anything unseemly. Beaver knew that merely a simple scan from a common door sentry would give away his deception. As he finally hobbled to the edge of the area of commerce, he noticed different Humbles traipsing by. They were going right past all of the troops and sentries, without a single regard for their lives. (A lot of them were too stupid to know any better) While he was crouched down next to a building trying to conceal himself, Beaver rapidly thought that he would rush forward and walk beside one of them. This action would be his shield from any sort of scanner. After a few moments of intensity, a group of three Humbles materialized with their arms interlocked in some sort of companion ritual. They slowly came closer to Beaver’s proximity. With an un-feeble bound, Beaver dashed to the side of one of them. He crouched down, and awkwardly walked in their rhythm trying not to reveal himself.

  As they strutted around the promenade in front of the bazaar, the autonomous sentries kept scanning and authenticating the Humbles, and luckily Beaver was not one of them. His prostrated trick had worked! When they finally made the first turn, Beaver noticed several troops bartering and shopping, rather than keeping surveillance. This made him smile with a downhill ease, knowing that now he was more than halfway to the shop. Upon sight, Beaver was even more overjoyed realizing that the other side of the bazaar virtually unmonitored. His one step off of the transport that sealed his fate, was seemingly going to bear fruit.

  Suddenly, the trio unlocked their arms and cast their gaze at Beaver. In ticts, with one sound, everything was going to be destroyed! This dusty pathway of pestilence was going to be the only marker of his wretched existence, unless he quickly did something. His heart seemingly accelerated to the point of incineration. In a frenzied panic, Beaver could only expeditiously blurt out what he knew they would understand.

  “I’ll give each of you One Hundred thousand GP--if you just shut up and keep walking towards that building.” Beaver gave his stifled plea, pointing at the unkempt store. The anti-genius fellowship looked at each other in excitement. Then, they quickly relinked their arms and gleefully skipped again, this time in the direction of shop. Beaver almost fell over, as he dizzyingly felt his heart rate drop, then return to acceptability. As they turned the final corner, Beaver could clearly see the entryway of the shop before him. These last few steps were much more to him than a locomotion in dead space, they were movements of life itself and the salvation of so many innocents.

  With the careful ease of a serpent, Beaver quickly followed with the trio into the shop. Surprisingly, the place seemed barren, void of anyone. The shop was apparently looted and ransacked of much of its wares by Acad-troops. It was left unkempt and dirty, without any regard for the missing shop owner. Now, well inside and out of sight of the windows, Beaver turned around and looked at the threesome directly for the first time. They were a pitiful lot, filled with chemical burns and cuts and bruises. They certainly had suffered much abuse from the hands of the Academy.

  In spite of their pestilence, he noticed that each one of them had a weathered and pitted ring of metal on their left hand. Morgan had told him about such strange and unknown tokens, in their last meeting. He said that it was a “symbol of holy matrimony- an institution created by God.” Most undoubtedly, if the Academy knew that such customs still existed in New Judah and what they meant--everyone that had such adornments would be vapor.

  “You’re all married—aren’t you?” Beaver said inquisitively.

  The trio could only nod in affirmative, because they had the inability to speak; caused by spans of wicked exposure.

  “Do you have any children?”

  One of them slowly raised their discolored hand and lifted two of his knurled fingers.

  Beaver could only drop his head in shame, knowing there were people who were in worse predicaments that himself.

  Beaver suddenly thought--if anyone deserved such a large sum, it was them. And if they could hold to a marriage and family in the face of overwhelming odds—they would unselfishly help others as well.

  With small metascanners that were attached to their tattered clothing, they were eager to receive their reward. Each one slowly set their small data machines at one hundred thousand GP.

  However, Beaver suddenly prevented them, with tears in his eyes.

  “No—one million. Help your people.”

  The trio were suddenly dumbstruck with emotion. Their faces suddenly wrinkled and turned with overwhelming feeling. They looked as if they wanted to cry and bellow, but the spans of bad chemistry prevented them. All of a sudden, one of them produced a single tear that slid down his disfigured cheek. The other two turned to look at him, as if they were claiming his tear as their own.

  Beaver too had to choke back his own emotions, in the sight of such pain. He knew that without a word, this was probably the first time that other than among their own kind; anyone ever done something remotely nice for them.

  The trio recomposed themselves after a few moments and then set their metascanners to one million GP.

  They softly chimed as Beaver passed his right hand under the three of them.

  Understandably, the trio became very giddy at such an astronomical sum.

  “Ok now--go away. Help your families--and everyone you can.”--Beaver said with stern derogatory, still trying to hide himself—“Remember… you never saw me.”

  The trio nodded in jubilation and ducked out the door quickly. Then they shuffled down the pathway arm in arm, back to the bazaar.

  “Who’s your friends?” The shop owner stated, as he popped up out of hiding.

  “Don’t even ask …” Beaver huffed, ducking behind the counter with him.

  “I need to use the Hov-vator.” Beaver barked at the shop owner.

  “Are you crazy?!” The Humble sentry bellowed with authority—“With all these troops lurking around?! It would alert every single one of them! They’ve already been in here once today!”

  “There’s no time for that now!”--Beaver resonated, as he grabbed the owner’s tattered garb—“They are in the caves! I have to warn them before they reach the complex!”

  “Don’t you get it?! THEY WILL FIND YOU!” The sentry squawked trying to reason with him.

  “Then so be it …” Beaver sternly stated, peering a hole through the keeper’s eyes.

  “Ok--you want to die? It’s the Bubble-Up. Now--Go quickly!” the Humble said with a quiver in his voice. He quickly arose from his position and walked around the counter, towards the exit. The Sentry then turned over the crude sign hanging by the door from open to closed.

  “May Jesus be with you…” he whispered and then darted out the door.

  Beaver took several deep breaths then leaped from his hiding place, and jetted towards the back of the shop. Stacked in front of an interior wall was a display of old metal advertising signs from the former time. They were weather-worn and had elaborate beverages etched into each one of them.

  “Bubble up?! Where’s the--Bubble up!”—Beaver said to himself with a frenzied sound. Quickly, he found a pinkish sign with a bottle tilted on its side. It had the words Bubble Up printed on it, with a young female smiling about her purchase.

  “This is no time for smiling Ma’am”--Bobble said as he took hold of the sign’s corner.

  He then pulled on the advertising and the sound of a lock snapping open could be heard in front of him. Slowly, the wall retracted into the celling revealing a metal door.

  “Locked?! What!?” Beaver said in anger as he furiously jiggled the small door handle. This one obstacle that stood before him, was what hindered hi
m from completing his mission. He was determined that nothing was going to stop him.

  “HEATHEN!” Beaver shouted as his heart rate rapidly increased.

  With adrenaline-fueled strength, he punched a hole through a wire filled, safety glass pane on the door. His rage quickly calmed as he grabbed his bloody hand that now pulsed in great pain. He could only take deep, silent breaths with his lips pursed tightly; trying to calm himself without screaming out loud. After a few ticts, he then reached inside and quickly threw open, the once locked entryway.

  As he entered the hov-vator, he could see the control panel in front of him. He scanned the controls, and rapidly found the button that he needed to press. However, he hesitated for a moment from pushing that Blue descend button.

  “Whatever that happens from this point on, is in your hands LORD … not mine”--Beaver said out loud in a crude prayer—“Keep me there.”

  He then closed his eyes, and shoved the button not knowing what awaited him below.

  The door to the far gone laundry room, suddenly re-shut and locked, closing the wall of soft-drink merchandising with it. Then the entire room began to vibrate violently as the floor disengaged. All at once, the platform began to drop rapidly in seeming free-fall. Beaver could almost feel gravity leaving his body in the swift descent.

  “I have to make it in time! I have to …” Beaver said to himself, with panicked concern. The idea of not knowing was eating him inside like a voracious cancer.

  Is it too late?--he thought as he felt his weight return, in its slowing. It left him breathless, with the sheer horror of what failure meant to so many. The platform buffeted to a slow halt and locked in place. With a puff of smoke, the antiquated door of the air-lock suddenly burst open.

  “ARE YOU TRYING TO GET US ALL KILLED?!” Morgan yelled, in a livid tone. He was standing right in front of the opening, with his hand on his hip.

  Beaver lunged forth out of the hov-vator, falling to his knees.

  “THEY ARE IN THE CAVES! THEY’RE COMING!” he screamed, with all of the energy he could muster.

  “How?!” Morgan said with a look of fright.

  “THEY … THEY FOLLOWED BOBBLE AND ATTACKED HIM! HE GOT AWAY, BUT THEY FOUND HIS ELECTRO-KEY! … AND THE DUGOUT--AND THE TUB!” Beaver echoed breathlessly.

  Morgan’s eyes widened as panic took hold.

  “MY GOD! HELP US!” He howled in frenzy.

  After a few ticts, Morgan’s composure returned and he ran to his Lev-desk. He then ripped open the bottom left drawer, reveling a keyed switch.

  “I hoped that I would never have to use this … Help us Jesus!” Morgan said with solemnity as he turned the switch.

  Verb-bot suddenly awoke from his electronic slumber and spoke in an strange, unheard accent.

  “Revilers program 428 … Initiate plan 64 Exodus? Confirm?” Verb-bot reverberated throughout the complex’s address system.

  Beaver’s eyes filled with tears, realizing that it was the voice of his father

  Everyone in the complex suddenly froze, as if the news of great disaster had just been relayed. The workers in the pantry, dropped each one of their farming tools and began to heap large bags of seed and food upon their shoulders. The workers in the clinic, rapidly strapped the infirmed into mid-ancient wheelchairs and scrambled towards the exits with bags of medicines in hand. Beaver could only marvel at such a sight, as each one stood ready with military precision. Morgan could only stand motionless in fear with his eyes closed, knowing what was to happen next. With a stiff upper lip and look of determination, Morgan suddenly opened his eyes and spoke with tears flowing.

  “Hear O Israel, The LORD our God is one LORD.”--His words echoed throughout the complex.

  Verb-bot paused for several moments as its mechanized brain was thinking.

  “64 Exodus confirmed.

  Executed.

  You have 10 minutes.”

  “What’s a minute?” Beaver asked with oddity.

  “No time to explain… we have to get out of here!” Morgan stated as he began to fill a large bag with papers and antiquities.

  “What about the others?” Beaver questioned.

  “They know what to do … we have prepared for this for spans.” Morgan hurriedly said, without stopping his gathering.

  “Why 10 minutes?” Beaver continued asking questions like a quivering child.

  Morgan suddenly stopped moving, and looked directly at Beaver.

  “… because in 10 minutes all of the explosives will go off! This whole complex will be nothing but rubble! It’s our fail-safe against an Academy threat--it was one of the first things we did when we came here.”--Morgan yelled, with a hand motion—“NOW QUIT STANDING THERE AND HELP ME!”

  “You have 9 minutes …” Verb-bot reverberated throughout the complex in his borrowed voice.

  The duo worked furiously in tandem, grabbing every sort of artifact and mid-ancient electronics they could get their hands on. They furiously stuffed each one in the large leathery bag until it was overflowing.

  “Now … get the satchel hanging by the progscreen.” Morgan barked.

  Beaver quickly grabbed the big pack off of the wall, and they continued their frantic looting of everything in sight.

  “Set each full one on the hover cart in the closet … we can push it all to the escape tube--The tube--It’s on the other side of the clinic, through the back door. We’ll meet up with everyone, at the new location outside of New Judah.” Morgan said with great intensity, trying to stop any more questions from Beaver.

  Beaver2416 conformed to his request and started putting bag after bag on the large hover cart, as Morgan continued gathering.

  “You have 8 minutes …” the robot squelched.

  “Get the televise--the viewing thing in the drawer of the Lev-desk.” Morgan said pointing at the bottom drawer. He was now snatching mid-ancient paper books off the shelvers, and dropping them into a plasticized container as he went. Beaver quickly grabbed the viewer and took it to the hover cart.

  “IT CAN’T HOLD MUCH MORE!” he yelled loudly, cutting through all the commotion.

  “Just a little more …” Morgan said to himself.

  “CAN’T YOU ARRANGE IT BETTER?” he yelled with an equal intensity.

  “You have 7 minutes …” again it sounded throughout the complex.

  This made Beaver very fearful.

  “DON’T YOU HAVE ENOUGH?! WE NEED TO GO!!!” he screamed.

  “Why are you screaming? I’m right here … Here’s the last of it.” Morgan said with a smile, as he suddenly appeared dragging all of his foraged swag.

  Beaver rapidly started to load it, the best way that he could.

  While he was working on his puzzle, Morgan opened a side door leading out into the complex.

  “Done.” Beaver said, slapping his hands.

  “Now Beaver… SHOVE!” Morgan called as he heaved against the hover cart.

  Beaver did the same and quickly broke gravity’s inertia.

  “Piece of cake--Eh?” Morgan said trying to make light of it all.

  “I don’t think this was made to hold all of this weight …” Beaver stated as the cart slowly moved forward.

  “Where’s your faith?” Morgan said with a laugh, as he continued to push.

  “You have 5 minutes …” The robot suddenly chimed.

  “Five?! What happened to six?” Beaver squawked, still pushing.

  “I think we missed it when we were grunting … ha!” Morgan again laughed.

  He looked up and could see the escape tube just up ahead of them.

  “Almost there …” he said.

  “Good …” Beaver quipped breathlessly.

  Without warning, the ground beneath them began to vibrate, in so much that one of the bags fell off of the cart.

  “The explosives?” Beaver questioned with a trembling in his voice.

  Morgan’s eyes greatly widened in fear.

  “No … the Acad-soldiers! They are breaking throug
h the limestone!” he shrieked.

  Beaver quickly heaved the fallen bag, back onto the cart and then shoved with all his might.

  “You have 4 minutes …” Verb-bot bellowed.

  They travelled faster, much faster than before. With each step, it seemed as if they were increasing in difficulty. Beaver’s brow suddenly was drenched in sweat as he continued to push with everything that he had. Just then, the hover cart sunk into the dust below.

  “NO!!!” Morgan shouted.

  Morgan frantically starting working on the controls of the hover cart, to try to get it running again.

  “You have 3 minutes …” the mechanical bot reverberated.

  Morgan started hitting and slapping the cart in frustration.

  “COME ON … LEAVE IT! WE HAVE TO GO!” Beaver shouted.

  Morgan started to break down in tears.

  “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! THIS IS OUR HISTORY! THIS IS OUR LIVES!!!”--He screamed with the pangs of torture.

  He suddenly began to pull down each and every bag from the cart.

  “THE MANUSCRIPT … I WON’T LEAVE WITHOUT THE MANUSCRIPT!” Morgan cried as he frenziedly tore open each bag looking for Matthew’s book.

  “You have 2 minutes …” again it echoed.

  “I HAVE TO FIND IT! WHERE IS IT?!” Morgan squealed in frustration.

  Without warning, the loud hum of the hov-vator began to sound.

  “THEY ARE COMING! WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!” Beaver screamed with authority, grabbing unto Morgan’s arm.

  “You have 1 minute …” Verb-bot loudly squelched.

  Morgan resisted, and shoved Beaver hard to the ground.

  “NO! I HAVE TO FIND IT!” Morgan screamed, returning to his hysteria.

  “45 … 44 … 43 …” the numbers continued.

  Suddenly, the doors of the Hov-vator opened and several troops filed into the complex. They were dumbfounded by the enormity of the place. They looked all around like tourists on interval, awestruck by its presence.