Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) (8 page)

Soon, it was time for Timmy2845 to leave for his drudgery as a propagator. His exit was always one stop before Beaver’s.

“It’s about
that
time …” Timmy said with a frown, “Hopefully, I won’t have any trouble out of
them
.” Beaver knew the “
them”
that Tim was referring to. It was the bumbling crew of witless degenerates that he supervised.

“Yes … hopefully so.” Beaver softly told as the transport warbled to a stop.

Timmy slowly rose and stepped on to the trackstreet below. “Well … I’ll see you later.” he said with a raised hand.

Beaver equally raised his in salutation. “
See you
…”

As the transport began to pull away, something made Beaver feel a bit uneasy. He had this feeling every time, as he departed each light. He would usually dismiss it as the Granfibrous that he had for lightfast. However, today seemed a little more distressing than usual … why he really didn’t know.

The moments ticked by and in a seeming instant, Beaver could see the Perpetua Motors building in the distance. The transport warbled to a stop as the robotic voice emitted “Last stop--Bona Fide. Please exit promptly.” This was always the last stop before the transport would follow a roundabout, and go back to the underground parkstop in Westbrook. The area was named such an ancient legal term, because not far from Perpetua was the Catholic Parliament and all its sadistic glory. Beaver hated the place with a passion. Because, no matter the crime (or lack thereof) entry into its halls; always meant the macabre for some downtrodden soul.

The Screen could be seen clearly just beyond the Perpetua motors building, because this was literally the West end of New Judah. Beaver would use it frequently to his advantage by throwing people into it, which were not meeting work demands. It would give them a good dramatic jolt, but Beaver knew that it was relatively harmless. It made him sick inside how the Elites would laugh and mock the people, every time he would give them a
toss
into the screen. They thought it was hilarious; a cause for hand clapping and smiles. However, his sociopathy prevented him from showing any sort of outward disgust. Usually, this would satisfy the Elites enough that they would pass on to other matters. But sometimes, just an Elite’s bad mood or a glimmer of something they didn’t really like, would cause them to be maimed by an android, or tried at Parliament against the Edict. No matter the trial, they would always lose and with it …
their lives
.

“
Goodlight to you Beaver2416 … may the blessings of the Great Master be upon you as you enter
,” the electron-door greeter said as Beaver passed the large, open threshold entering into the offices of Perpetua. Due to Beaver’s status as a Hachiman, he was authorized to use the Elite’s entrance, as opposed to the grimy turnstile that all of the common workers used.  The offices of Perpetua, with its rare marble columns, spiral Lev-cases, ancient architraves, and other saph-glas protected antiquities; reeked of affluence and arrogant high-society. Beaver always hated walking past all of the Elites and listening to their pandering about haughty, high-minded things. He had to though, because his small crag of an office was in the back. Usually, Beaver was not acknowledged with as so much as a wink, as he walked passed their rows of luxury and stuck-up opulence. However, sometimes there would be an occasional salutation, followed by “I need you to…” This light was of no exception.

“Beaver2416 …
Yoo Hoo
!” one of the older Elites said with an outstretched hand, waving frantically.

Deep down, he wanted to break every finger; but Beaver held his peace of course.

“
Yes sir
…” Beaver said, as he turned to walk towards the voice. It was one of Mercurial’s advisors, standing with a group of foppish do-nothings.

“Yes-- Beaver2416 I need you to come to the Overlord’s office at around-- say 13:15. We want to meet with you about some upcoming promotions …” The advisor said with a delicate ease.

“Yes … of course sir. I will be there.” Beaver said nodding with a level of seriousness. He didn’t have to guess as to whatever it was.

The advisor’s group stood idly by, waiting for some form of entertainment. It was much like a child, which anticipates the curtain drawing up, to reveal a puppeteer’s mirth and skill behind it. There was still a small level of celebrity attached to Beaver, that he tried at all times to keep hidden. It was obvious that this older group of Elites knew the child star, which he used to be. As well as, they have kept their following of all of the minor advertisements and random interviews that he has done for Perpetua. Beaver, knowing their true agenda; put on an instant fake persona and flashed a beaming smile at the group. He followed up with a wink, as he walked away towards his small office. The group swooned under the spell of Beaver’s celebrity, as they watched him leave. Knowing now, that he was at a safe distance away, all Beaver could do is roll his eyes in disgust.

“
Heathen
” he muttered under his breath.

His small office was something of mockery and jest among the Elites. Before the Great Conflict, most of the Perpetua motors’ building was a factory for janitorial and industrial cleaning supplies. Because of this, Beaver’s office was located where in the former factory; there was a small test lab for mid-ancient products like paper towels and toilet paper. So, among the childish Elites, his office was affectionately known as
rear end
. And with it, there were constant lame jokes about
wiping
and
scratching
one’s
posterior
when making reference to Beaver’s office. He didn’t mind it though, because this was a cause for most of them to stay away; desiring not to be socially tainted.

As he entered, the electrical pulses from the screen glimmered through the picture window.

“
12
…” Beaver uttered vocally. Upon sight, he would make a guess as to how many people he would throw into the screen each day.

“Welcome Beaver2416!” his sect-bot proclaimed. There was no real reason for having a sect-bot (or an office for that matter) but he would greet it just the same.

“Good light to you … do I have any postscripts?” Beaver asked inquisitively, even though he would never receive any.

“No postscripts received …” the sect-bot said, as it seemingly went back to android sleep. Beaver equally relaxed and sat quietly in his high-backed Lev-throne. He was only afforded such luxury, because Mercurial had thrown it out for a new model.  Beaver was usually the recipient of the office Elite’s expensive hand-me-downs; however he never had much time to bask in their splendor.

Soon, the progscreen in his quaint office would illuminate and the G.M.’s brief
work your all
garbage would be the starting bell at Perpetua.  In the meantime, he sat looking at all his swag on the walls, as well as the floor. There were trinkets and baubles, as well as paintings and other collectables seemingly everywhere. He knew never to refuse a handout from the Elites, because they would be greatly offended. To the rest of New Judah, this
rear end
was certainly a place of thousands of GP’s in valuables; a literal museum of discarded treasures. However, to Beaver it was absolutely meaningless. He would always gaze in wonder as to why people would be willing to give their lives for such miscellanea. As he browsed the walls, he thought hard if there was truly anything in this life worth dying for.

As expected, he sighed and stood to his feet as the progscreen came on with its usual regalia. The sect-bot also awoke and stood to attention, with its arms raise in salute.

“Good light, my faithful subjects.” The G.M. pandered. He then, gave a brief speech reminiscent of a mid-ancient sport coach, proclaiming
win one for the team
. Beaver always thought that this address was so stupid and unnecessary. People were going to work or not, regardless of any words from the potentate. He could almost immediately tell every day, when he stepped out on the work floor, just who was going to work and who had given up on existing.

In many ways, Beaver was a pious minister among the people, in that he was trying to keep them alive and willing to live by harshly motivating them. He didn’t want to see anyone die, tortured, or be maimed for life. Even though he had gross sociopathic tendencies, his workjob truly bothered him on the deeply hidden inside. There were many nights that he laid awake in the sleep chamber, thinking about all the random lives that he played a part in destroying. That is why his primary option was always to threaten and slap them, or give them a toss into the screen. The people would survive a slap or a shock; but not the gangly appendages of the androids, or the blackened halls of the Parliament.

“
SdotG
” the two said in unison. The progscreen went black and almost immediately there was the hum of all the machines and their constant commotion. He grabbed his ambient plugs off his small Lev-desk and rested them on his ears, to stifle the extreme noise levels. Next, he opened a large drawer and put on his neo-leather plat-armoring to protect him from any hand strikes or tool attacks from unruly workers. And finally, hanging on the wall was his weapon of choice. It was a concussive force rod that would knock people to the ground with the power of an oblique shockwave, if needed of course.

“
See you later
…” Beaver loudly said to the sect-bot, as he walked through a side door towards the main work floor.

“Good bye, Beaver2416 …” the autonomy replied, as it went back to android sleep.  

Chapter 5:

The work floor was massive. There was activity buzzing in seemingly every square milli-hectare. Thousands of people were moving with a flow that would rival the greatest of mid-ancient symphonic conductors. Beaver’s section of work was where they assembled the most vital part of Perpetua, the A/R Kinolev drive, A.K.A. the Furlong. This coveted invention is what powers most of the 16 Academy conquered lands, as well as the various mining operations like Tom Bossley. With all its Lev driven transports, Lev powered androids, and playthings; New Judah was of no exception. Other than the G.M. this is hailed as the only good that came out of the chemocides of the Great Conflict.

The technology that powers the A/R kinolev was invented somewhat by accident. After one of the great battles of the Conflict, a scavenger who was looking for anything of value noticed a brightly, glowing mixture in a mud puddle. It was a slurry of all the various volatile chemicals and nuclear isotopes, left behind by the hyper weapons. The glowing mixture was nothing more to the scavenger than a spot of color to avoid stepping in. Then by mere chance, while he was looking about; there was a brief cloud burst of weak acid rain. The tender drops fell into the puddle and the mixture began to erupt violently. It did in so much, that it resembled the horror of a massive geothermal lava flow, destroying everything in its path. This strange person knew enough, that he was witness to a new energy source, and carefully collected as many samples as he could. This mix was later synthesized by the Acad-scientists, and was the pivotal force used in ending the Great Conflict for the side of the Academy. This mere scavenger, then known as Harvey Damron was first hailed as
hero
, then later exalted as a
god
. They know him today by another name

--
Great Master
.

The Elites cared for the Furlong and its technology more than anything, even Cumal. This was quintessentially the Academy’s life-source. Without it, there would be no transportation, no industry, no androids, no sentries, no dunners, and no innovations of wonderment to thrust upon the people. New Judah, along with all of the other lands would be basically be, an ancient uninhibited Wild-West, surrounded by a now inescapable barrier. Without the power of the Kino-lev, as well as all the thousands of inventions that use its technology, the Academy Elites would be at the mercy of the people, and unable to leave the Screen. Beaver always had this fact in the back of his mind, every time he stepped onto the work floor. Of course, he further knew that the technology had a shelf life of at least fifty-three spans, and they had a vast surplus that was heavily guarded and spread over all the sixteen lands.

This light, upon searching his section, he didn’t notice any potential subordinates. It was usually this way after decision day, because people actually had time to rest. Everyone was working steady and in harmony, which left him to daydream. As he stood pacing the floor, all Beaver could think about is 13:15. Ever since his brush with Mercurial, (on the day of benevolence two spans prior) he has always had a great uneasiness any time that he had to grace his presence. 
Promotions
usually meant that he had to do some sort of menial task for Perpetua, such as holoportal some pre-fabricated spiel at a trader’s convention or make some sort of stupid advertisement to be slathered on every progscreen.  The idea of marketing was nonsensical to Beaver, because people were going to buy Perpetua regardless. This was merely psychological tactics designed by the Academy, to make people more proud or grateful of something they were basically forced to have in the first place. According to the Archive of Fact, many mid-ancient
politicians
frequently did the same exact thing.

Because of this constant promotion, with its psychological
got-to-have-it
tilt, many Selects were hooked and reeled in. For this reason, they would try to keep up with the Elites, with all the various upgraded equipment issued by the Academy. Every Decision day, the only time when commerce is allowed for them; if news had come out about a new upgraded android or other automata, many thousands of Selects would flood into the Arcade. They did so, hoping to be first in line, to snag what was touted as the
newest technological breakthrough
. Of course, this is already old news to the Elites, and those Elites who wanted
it
already had
it
. People would stand ready for what seemed like spans, hoping to receive what was always
in limited supply
. They all had the singular thought of beating everyone and surrendering thousands of GP’s, in hopes of a new breed of entertainment or better way of doing a task. In many ways, these
upgrades
were the overwhelming vise of the Selects, while Cumal and synth-liquor was the same exact addiction for the Elites. 

Far too many were willing to risk life and limb for a new gimmick-- a new trick that would fuel the lustful flames of the foolhardy Selects. In the last par-span, there had been at least Six hundred fifty deaths caused by
human crushes
when the appropriate place of commerce would open its gateway. Many Elites would watch from the various overlooks of the Arena (synth-liquor in hand), because to them this was always perceived as a form of amusement or sport. It was especially amusing to them, when people were trampled to death. Beaver would never attend these Decision day events though, because he thought all of this sensationalism for a new product was nonsense. He would usually wait until one of the Elites at Perpetua would throw out one of their playthings because of age or some sort of non-conformity. This way, he got it for free and without risking injury or death for tomorrow’s trash.

In spite of the wares of the Perpetua Corporation, the only real alternative was the crude technology of the non-Academy. And that, of course was considered treasonous and against the Edict; if in fact, you could even find such a thing. The
Non-Academy
were the hidden, unknown number of rebellious left scattered throughout the un-Screened world.  The Elitists, with all their arrogance; have never officially recognized them or their existence. Why is because, to admit such would mean that they were not in complete control of the world. Plus, to them and their arrogance, “…
because they do not exist in any of the 16 Academy conquered lands, they do not exist at all
.” According to the higher powers, other than the various mining operations; the sixteen lands were the entire world, and you were not to publically think otherwise, unless you wanted to be infused.

Even Beaver and Timmy were not officially hailed as any sort of former
non-conformist
. According to official Acad-record, they were merely
kidnapped
as children and taken from their real (Academy issued) parents. Their captors were infused and the children (except for Beaver) had to stay a season at the reformer’s camp. This was for them to be
Re-instituted
from their captor’s
wicked
ideologies. Deep in Beaver’s heart, he believed that
others
still existed. It was logical to him, that if the Academy and his family had survived the Great Conflict, then others had survived as well. Who and how many that were still alive and in hiding, were to Beaver2416 as mid-ancient fairy tales of contemplation to get him by the humdrum workday.

Soon, it was 13:00. He had only given four a toss all light, which made for a very boring time. He knew that it would not be much longer until his ambient plugs would ring with the postscript of “
Beaver2416 … please report to O.L
.”

O.L. of course, meant
Overlord
.

This meeting would probably consume the rest of his workday, so he had to reluctantly settle for four. He didn’t like to hurt people, however he equally didn’t like to seem like he was slipping or soft to the Elites. As long as he would continue to show his daily prowess, they would continue to believe that he was a loyal savage. As he pondered upon his weak display, he noticed two who worked at the same station, secretly laughing about something. Fraternization of any kind was not permitted on the work floor, so he quickly grabbed the two by the back of their oversuits and drug them towards a small doorway leading towards the screen. Some of the Elites standing idly by also followed, onto an outdoor mezzanine.

“
Fraternization is not permitted
!” Beaver yelled, in a gruff tone at the trembling duo. He then flung them forward towards the screen. A shockwave of electricity could be visibly seen pulsating up and down their bodies as they fell to the ground. In contemplation, Beaver quickly re-grabbed the writhing two, and tossed them again towards the screen. The small crowd of Elites that stood by watching began to clap their hands in approval. Beaver could hear many of them saying “
double toss!
” as if it were a mid-ancient circus stunt or magician’s trick.  Beaver spun around, facing the crowd and gave a bow. The Elites clapped more furiously, as he then grabbed the two, and lead them back to the work area. As they walked inside, the Elites stayed outside on the mezzanine. They were now more concerned with the next doling of synth-liquor than violent amusements. At this point, all Beaver could do is roll his eyes in disgust.

After firmly putting the two workers to task, he went back again to his state of contemplation.

“
Eight … I can live with that
.” Beaver said to himself.

Within a few ticts, as expected, his ambient plugs gave the message to leave. He then gave all the workers a glaring, deviant look as if to say “
do your jobs … or I’ll get you
.” When he made sure that everyone had seen him and his sinister grimace, he went back through the side door to his office. Upon entry, his sect-bot awoke to give him the same message.

“Welcome Beaver2416! Postscript received--Beaver2416 … please report to O.L.” the android said, in a squeaky tone.

“Thank you,” Beaver returned, even though he had already received the message.

He quickly doffed his ambient plugs and set them on the Lev-desk. He then shed his armoring and put it back into the drawer. After he hung his concussive force rod back on the wall, he did something he always hated to do. Beaver sighed, and moved into position behind the Lev-desk. Then with a child-like grunt, he slammed the Orange button.

Every Lev-desk had an Orange button, and his hand-me-down was of no exception. A panel on top suddenly retracted, and a hat-like appendage appeared to engulf Beaver’s head. A facial appendage also appeared and latched on to his visage. This was the Cosmo-bot, an autonomous makeover device that Beaver hated with a passion. He had to use it though, because meeting with the Overlord was an extremely slippery affair. He fully knew that one wrong move or one misstep to make him dislike his presence could mean torture or death. The robot worked at a frantic pace, whirring and clicking.

“
Modeling complete
…” the Cosmo-bot squelched as it retracted its appendages, back into the denizens of the Lev-desk. Beaver greatly sighed as he slowly turned to look into a small mirror attached to the wall. His brownish locks were now a solid plat-silver blonde. His hair was now styled in neo-fashion, with it lengthened with lab created hair and parted to one side. His scraggly face was now Las-shaven and his facial pits and wrinkled marks were now filled and smooth. He looked at least twenty spans younger, and Beaver hated every bit of it.

All he could do is sigh and roll his eyes in disgust.

“
I’ll see you next light
…” Beaver said dejectedly to the Sect-bot, still upset with his new look. The Sect-bot did not answer, because it had already drifted back to its place of hibernation. Beaver held his breath and closed his eyes, as he opened the rear end’s door, leading back into the offices of Perpetua. He had an inner feeling of dread, much like the mid-ancient school display at the Archive of Fact. The diorama depicted a child-filled class room with at least twenty students laughing and pointing their fingers at one shame-filled outcast, with his head tucked in fear on his desk. The sign attached spoke of something called bullying. Whatever this
bullying
was, to Beaver; he somewhat felt like that one lowly child, every time he pressed the Orange button.

The door swung open wide and almost immediately there were cheers and cat-calls throughout the office. It was a rare look for Beaver2416. He certainly was not obsessed with trends and fashions, like the Elites were. Some of the office dwellers looked shocked to see one so trendy, coming out of the
rear end
. Others, realizing that it was Beaver2416, knew that he must be going to see Mercurial. This was one of the only times that he would indulge in such frivolity. The thought of becoming like the Elites, with all of their arrogance and avarice made Beaver sick to his stomach. He of course, did not show it on the surface as he smiled and greeted each enthralled Elite who could not stop staring.

Mercurial’s office was in the far right, rear corner of the massive annex. (Beaver’s was in the far left, rear corner) He, like the rest of the common workers; was forbidden to enter this area unless they had pre-authorization relayed to their Bio-mark. The area was filled with ancient sculptures on pedestals, hanging art pieces, and rare gemstones surrounded by Saph-glas adorning the walls. And in the center of it all, the pièce de résistance was a working, far ancient mosaic fountain from the Byzantine period that was built by, and originally dwelt in the courts of Justinian I. The fountain was a High Ember Day present from about 10 spans ago. It was to the Overlord from the Great Master himself. He gave it, because production under the
new
Overlord (named Mercurial) had increased 400%. The Overlord who was before him was brought from his cell and ceremonially infused on the same day, for not increasing enough production. In many ways, Beaver knew that Mercurial was just like him, a lab rat in a maze. If he did not meet enough goals, his head would be on the chopping block regardless of his social status. There was no mercy to be found in the Academy, when it came to their love for the Furlong.