Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) (4 page)

Tim, Beaver, and the last of the passengers exited the transport, as it began to slowly descend into its underground park-stop. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Beve! Decision day and all,” Tim said with a raised arm in reverse salutation, as he walked the pathway towards his assigned domicile.

“Yes … decision day.” Beaver grumbled, as he too started walking the prismatic, lighted pathway leading towards home.

Chapter 2:

Beaver’s home was just like everyone else’s. The same amount of steps leading up to the entryway, the same teal-green color on every side panel and every bolt, the same outdated model of autonomous verification-- very little change ever happens in Westbrook. Beaver had the same basin, the same table, the same food, and the same sleep chamber as all the others. There was a wave holgraphia machine for musical interludes and a progscreen for entertainment and information. It was as if Westbrook was merely a vast hotel in which every room was exactly the same.

Beaver never cared much for the extra amenities, as every note played and every programme featured on every relaxation device, was in praise and worship of the Academy and the Great Master. It all was created to
give glory
to their revered one, and make everyone conform to his majesty. Or, they are designed for the propagation of the ideals of self-sacrifice and communal work for the good of the Academy. Truly, with its vertical collectivism and socialistic reciprocity, Westbrook would have been a source of great pleasure for the mid-ancient Stalin.

“Good evening Beaver2416, may the blessing of the Great Master be upon you as you enter--your dinner is almost ready.” A female voice interjected as Beaver crossed the threshold of his home. There was no door, as there was no need for one. None of the homes had doors, because without the proper clearance embedded on your Bio-mark, you would receive a stark and painful reminder upon attempted entry. If the ADA-lasers did not burn you in the doorway, the servile androids would crush you approximately a duo-yard inside the home.

Beaver sat down in his favorite chair. It was a scraggly, bowed chair in an area adjacent to the kitchen. The framing of it was much like the design of the ancient
barstool
behind Saph-glas at the Archive of Fact.  He rarely sat in the comfortable, massaging Lev-seat in the living area. This is because upon sitting, the Progscreen would immediately come on and stay on, until time for rest. This was of course was by design of the Academy powers. Either you sat in discomfort with lower back pain or you sat in comfort, engulfed with biased propaganda. Sitting on the floor, however was out of the question because the vacu-bot would appear, treating you like scraps of garbage and try to compact you. 

As Beaver sat trying to ease his mind and separate from his prison, his journey was interrupted by a tray being set in front of him.

Horse loaf again
!?
It’s been the third time this interval
!
Beaver thought to himself.

He certain knew not to utter such childish distain out loud.

“
Is it well, sir?
” the Victual android interjected as it stood motionless, studying Beaver’s eyes.

Beaver smiled and nodded with glee like usual.

“
That is agreeable, sir.”
it said as it turned and returned to its work.

It was a sadistic part of the Academy protocol that if a Victual android was not met with a sense of gratitude and thankfulness for whatever it laid before its counterpart, (no matter how nasty or inedible) it would immediately turn violent, striking its victim. It would also destroy any such foodstuffs, leaving that patron without any sustenance until the next day.

The Academy powers got the idea from a well-preserved book at the Archive of Fact, written by someone named
Dickens
.

The brownish square sitting in front of Beaver smelled like the burning of synth-rubber. It was a very unwelcome smell to Beaver, as it reminded him of all of the chard wasteland left behind during the Great Conflict. He sat gazing at the top of the loaf with its ragged terrain. It always brought to his memory the sight of scarred lands. Blackened hills and valleys were clad, edge to edge upon its foul surface, caused by all the grav-tanks and sentries. The faint sounds of screams once again filled his ears, which once existed and were silenced outside of the bunker. He suddenly though about his mother cradling his quivering and frightened body, as the hatred of war was waged all around them. The horse loaf set before him, was a substitutionary reminder of widespread death and unfathomable loss.

“
Is it not well, sir
?” the Victual android spoke in a more demanding tone with widened irises.

This comment seemingly snapped him back into an unwanted reality.

“
Wonderful Viki! Just wonderful
--” Beaver said, as he furiously began eating.

The android’s irises returned to normal size.

“
Splendid!
”--The bot said as it once again turned and began working.

Even though Beaver was a person to be feared, with his large stature and hulking forearms; he knew never to mess with an Academy android. He would use them from time to time in his daily workings as a Hachiman, usually for their efficiency and speed in snapping people’s limps in two. His threats at work of “
I’ll get the android
…” were most of the time all that was needed to get workers to straighten up and meet demands. Even though Beaver had no form of empathy or fear, (other than what happened with Mercurial) he had developed a sense of
logical fear
when it came to androids. Their sheer power per square hexaire was more than enough to pulverize anyone, including himself.

The horse loaf tasted like charcoal. In fact, it
always
tasted like charcoal. Horse meat was the only
real
meat substance that existed after the Great Conflict. The Equine family was somewhat immune to the pandemic that swept throughout the entire animal kingdom. This wide-spread disease was originally caused by neuro-chemical weapons used in battle. Which in turn, leached into the water table and was ingested. All that was bovid, suidae, canine, feline, or rodent succumbed to Systemic Neurological Degenerative Disease or SNDD for short.

Like the ancient Rabies, most animals degraded to uncontrollable fits of rage and a zombie-like loss of all mentality.  They transmitted their disease to other animals through either airborne or contact saliva or sexual contact. Humans were equally affected by eating tainted meat, or being scratched or bitten by sickened animals.

Eventually, much of the original animal ecosystem was eradicated.

However, many of the carriers of this disease survived to create new, mutated strains of wild beasts that did not resemble anything that once was. Most members of this new zoological kingdom were now poisonous to humans.  Even the smallest of tor-fish could kill a man with a single touch. Thankfully, most of these deadly species were driven out a long time ago. Not even a single fly of any type remained, in any of the Academy conquered lands (however, they could never get rid of all the Sar-rats).

--This was because of the
Screen
.

After the Great Conflict was over, the Academy knew that for the civilization of the Great Master to survive, they would need to barricade themselves from the rest of the world. A span earlier, while the war was still raging; Academy scientists had developed a means of using the Ionosphere’s power for the purpose of creating an impenetrable and perpetual force field. They had made this discovery by researching ancient technology, in hopes of improving it for the Academy’s use on the battlefield. Some pre-Omni genius named
Tesla
gave them clues as to how to harness the power of the heavens.

They found a renewable resource of power in the skies, which was tapped into by launching hundreds of thousands of small, hovering milli-droids into the upper atmosphere. These small sphere-like hov-conduits, in turn were powered by the ionosphere enough they could both, hover for hundreds of spans, as well as rain down a wall of electrical impulses that bar exit or entry. Of course, many of the Elites had
interrupters
in their possession to create a portal through the electrified wall, large enough to pass through. However, this technology was rarely used by individuals because of the sheer danger, just beyond the Screen.

The only common use for interrupters in New Judah was for the heavily armored, motor driven Lev-trans that daily took the weary to the Cupric Oxide mines of Tom Bossley. The mines are located roughly 50 waggs (Twenty kilometers by the measure of the former time) northeast from New Judah. These weaponized, armored, and fuel driven transports; used for such harsh and treacherous terrain were one of the major products manufactured at Perpetua.

“
Your food is always the best Viki
!” Beaver said, secretly hoping to score something more edible.

Academy protocol further stated that if a victual droid was met with a pure gratitude and thankful heart, it would randomly give a
treat
in reward. This treat when given, was usually a wedge made of barley, because it was one of the most abundant plants to survive.  Wheat was now a rarity, Corn was extinct, and Soybeans were deadly.  This was an unwanted side-effect from the ravages of chem-war. Because of this, Academy scientists were always trying to synthesize everything that was or once was
food
.  And sadly, the Humbles were used as the taste testers.

“
Why thank Beaver2416!--Here is reward
.” The droid said as it presented a Barley wedge to Beaver.

Beaver always laughed because of the android’s broken English. This was among many of the Academy’s inaccuracies. Even though, the Academy was at all times upon the cutting edge of technology, there was a slight problem with keeping everything up to date. Because, their technology constantly advanced at such a rapid pace, there was an equally constant abandonment of all things deemed antique or
tique
for short. Perpetually, with trickle-down effect; when a new technology was created or an existing one improved upon, the Elites would abandon their existing wares, and give them to the Select party members. And, when the Selects were either through with them or received something better, they in turn would give them (usually broken) to the Humbles. It was the ancient equivalent of the Elites receiving the latest cellular smartphone, while the Selects received a rotary dial Candlestick phone, and the Humbles got 2 tin cans and a piece of string.

Even though Beaver’s victual android was a tique at over 6 spans old, he liked its quirkiness. Plus, it was
his
choice to keep her. This was one of the rare instances of non-Academy intervention. As long as a Select party member had the required victual, domestic, and compliance droids in working order, they did not interfere with such things as manufacturing generation marks and design varieties. This was due in part to the fact that every Academy issued android was hard-loaded with official protocol and a direct link to the
Bank
, tracking their every move.

The other part was the Academy’s arrogance of “
Don’t you want the best?”
in all things. That arrogance, which was held in high regard by the Elitist powers, was seen by Beaver as their fatal flaw. Beaver knew deep down that if only someone could effectively use these outcast tiques and all of their electronic antiquity to bypass their systems,
break the bank
so to speak; something then could be done to tear down the tyranny of the Great Master. But,
how
this task could be done was beyond his comprehension.

The barley wedge tasted much better than the horse loaf. It had a crunchy texture with a light taste of clover honey that delighted Beaver.  As he crunched his newly found feed, he sat gazing at the back of the Android waiting for it. The “
it”
in question, was the same
it
at the same time, each and every night, since he had been issued his home in Westbrook. More than anything else, Beaver knew it was coming.

The android whirled back around, facing towards the progscreen. It then raised its mechanized arms in salute. Beaver reluctantly arose from his uncomfortable stool and did the same, still crunching his wedge of Barley. Suddenly, the progscreen illuminated and aural waves filled the air with music. The Academy’s anthem,
Academicis meis, mi Adoráte
blared throughout the streets of Westbrook. Every Progscreen throughout New Judah flashed images of patriotic regalia and luminary heroes and heroines of the Great Conflict, as the anthem played. Then … there was reverent silence as the Great Master appeared. He was a tall figurehead of masculinity. His whited beard glistened as it basked in the glow of a holo-generated background. The image depicted the far-ancient Colossus of Rhodes in all its crumbling glory. He was clothed in kingly robes of scarlet and gold. And upon his head was a Platsilver crown, bespeckled with rare jewels. He would speak to his worshipers each and every night, as if his words were endowed from Angelic scribes on high and everyone who refused to listen were worthy of the lowest hell.

“
Greetings my faithful subjects
…” he bellowed with authority, as he began his nightly address.

As the G.M. railed on about Academy solidarity and world domination, Beaver could only stand there with an inner feeling of disgust. It was the same feeling that he experienced every night in the presence of the Academy’s deity. Timmy had told Beaver something in secret when they were in the reformer’s camp. It was something Tim had learned in the bunker before they were captured, and he fully believed it. Beaver could only repeat it in his mind as the would-be King wore on.