Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) (7 page)

“
Not the end of the world
.” Beaver interrupted.

Timmy was so high-strung, yet Beaver could always calm him down.

“There are many other vendors …” Beaver said, trying to talk some sense into his friend, “you
might
find it cheaper elsewhere.”

“Well … I really don’t have a stomach for parv-bacon today anyway.” he shrugged, casting aside his disappointment.

“Maybe I’ll get some sim-berries… Oh!
this looks good
!“ Timmy said as he began to scatter among the aisles of trinkets and foodstuffs.

Beaver shook his head in agitation, and thought to himself--
let the buying spree commence.
   

Other than the murals, Beaver was never very impressed with the Bazaar. He would not buy anything, except for the occasional Occal-fruit; but even then it was in great moderation. By ancient or even mid-ancient standards, Beaver was very rich. Through his workjob, Holopram promotions, and bonuses from the Catholic Parlament; (for ending the lives of rebellious miscreants) he had amassed a great fortune of several million Goldpence. However, he did see a need to use any of it.

Logically, he thought that binging and purging, massive amounts of drugs or food just because you could, was worthless and stupid. Perhaps, it was a part of his sociopathy, making him numb to the inner feelings of want or greed. Or, unknown to him, he was holding on to all of it for a greater purpose. Either way in the face of commerce, the Bazaar was nothing more than a great nuisance to him. It was just something that he
put up with
every Decision day, for Tim’s sake.

Timmy, on the other hand would binge spend every GP in his possession each Decision day. He would buy lots of consumables, but also forbidden things like medicines, tools, chemicals, and other contraband. He would then take all of his newly acquired possessions to an abandoned building; he called his
dugout
. (Whatever a dugout is …) Then, he would hide it all in a mystery place, like a squirrel gathering chia seeds for interval. Not even Beaver was allowed to enter the building, when he was hiding his foraged swag. His spoken reasoning for it all was “
What if the Academy falls and there is another conflict? How would you survive?
” Beaver would always stand in the pathway every decision day, rolling his eyes as Tim stocked his hidden
doomsday bunker
.

“Are you
done
yet?” Beaver said with a sigh.

“Almost … I just need to get one more thing.” Tim said with his arms filled with newly-bought miscellanea.

“You are such a
hoarder
.” Beaver again puffed with an air of discontent.

“
So
…” Tim said, as if to shrug off Beaver’s growing restlessness.

The Bazaar suddenly began to thin out from its vast crowds. The noise level from a bustling center of merchandise dropped drastically as each of the Academy faithful began to flood the transports. Everyone knew that it was close to dark, and dark meant
tally time
.

The Tally was an evil part to the Academy’s so-called benevolence. If you were not in your assigned domicile by the exact
tict of the tally
, you were to expect a night of sheer torture in the sleep chamber. This Tally, also was in place for coming to work and going home. Regardless of the situation, if you were the slightest of late, the
nice
ceil-bot would become a vixen of great sadism. It would perform its task by sending shockwaves of electrified pain throughout the body. How long this conditioning would commence was based on your tardiness:

One tict or less meant ten,

Two to fifteen ticts meant a full proc,

A half a proc meant four full procs,

And a full proc meant certain, electrified death. 

If you did not show within one full proc, the roving sentries or the foot troops would be immediately alerted and given orders to hunt you down. Eventually with their Bio-scanners, they would find you, torture you, and then infuse your weary soul.

“Come on Tim!
Tally Time
!” Beaver said, stomping his foot on the ground.

“
I’m done
! Let’s run to the
dugout
, it will only take a tict …” Timmy said, as he dashed towards a very unkempt part of Stowelowly.

The area was probably the worst in all of New Judah. The beams from partially collapsed buildings littered the streets. There was the dank smell of rotting garbage around every turn that they made. Sar-rats could be seen almost dancing throughout the filth of this yardage of Stowelowly. This emanation of pestilence was why Timmy2845 chose the area to be the location of his storage dugout. This was the one place that none of the high-minded, arrogant Elites would ever go. The duo stopped in front of a crumbling mid-ancient office with boarded up windows. The steel-clad door had an electrolock that only Tim knew the combination. Tim quickly slid his fingers in the correct sequence, as if it were a grand piano.

“Enter …
Timmy
” the lock bellowed. He quickly slipped into the darkness inside with his arms loaded with wares.

The exterior of the one-time plate glass window was covered with wood, so that no one could look inside. It was obviously done before the Great Conflict, or perhaps at the very beginning. All of the buildings and homes surrounding were in shambles. Some were completely collapsed into rubble. In fact, it was that very rubble that had kept the Dugout, hidden from obvious view. Somehow, this one office had somewhat survived without catastrophic damages. It bore the red painted words
still alive
in a hurried scrawl upon the weathered plywood. As Tim would scurry in his secret place, Beaver would always stand and wonder if the original occupants of this building actually survived, or was this a written work done in false hope.

“All done!
Let’s run
--” Tim said, interrupting Beaver’s pondering.

“
Yes--Right
.” Beaver spoke, in a broken tone. The two ran as fast as they could towards the trackstreet. There was a hidden path that only they knew, leading back to the populated area.

“There’s the last one!
Come on Beaver
!” Tim yelled, pointing towards the transport. Even though he had almost super-human strength from the Academy’s conditioning, Beaver could never run as fast as Timmy. The transport began to move, as Tim leaped into his seat. A few second later, Beaver once again swung from the Rev-pole into his seat.

“
Safety is Empirical
” a familiar voice stated.

Tim and Beaver were too out of breath this time to laugh.

“
Yeah … Empirical. Got it …
” Tim huffed, as he gasped for more air.

“
Made … it …
” Beaver panted with a slight wheeze.

As Beaver sat in recovery from their sprint, he suddenly remembered the strange man from earlier that sat nearby. He cautiously scanned the transport for him, but he was nowhere to be found.

Morgan
--Beaver mused.

He wondered to himself why he didn’t give a bio-numeral with his name. Since the advent of the Academy powers, every citizen was given a unique bio-numeral that was attached to his name. Like the
dog-tags
of the mid-ancient period, it was a requirement to give your bio-numeral when addressing any Elite or Academy official. It was drilled with military precision, in so much that everyone used their bio-numeral when addressing almost anyone. This greatly puzzled Beaver as to why he simply called himself
Morgan.
Beaver knew there must be something different about him, but what … he did not know.

The transport whirred down the trackstreet on its slow trek to Westbrook. The pair once again regained normalcy.

“I am still upset about that parv-bacon-- that vendor tried to take me for a
fool
!” Timmy said, with an agitated look upon his face.

“Well … he probably knew something about you that you didn’t.” Beaver said with a smile.

“
You heathen …
” Timmy huffed at Beaver, understanding what he actually meant.

“
Safety is empirical …
” Beaver said in a sarcastic, mocking tone.

The two could no longer contain themselves. They bellowed with loud laughter, in so much that the others on the transport could not help but turn their heads and see what was going on. Like Librarians from the former time, many of them put their fingers to their lips resonating a
Shhhh
sound.

“
Sorry … sorry
,” Tim apologized, to all the riders with downtrodden eyes.

“You and
your bacon
almost got us in
trouble
…” Beaver dictated with a brother-like authority.

“
Me?! No … it was you!
” Tim snickered.

The two sat once again in silence, miffed at the situation. The moments passed as the transport whirred along. Soon, it slowly began its descent into Westbrook.

“It
was
too much …” Beaver spoke, breaking the quiet between them.

“Yes,
it was
…” Timmy interjected with a careful tone.

Their quick comments seemingly broke the iceberg between them.

“Well, it’s back to work next light … I guess I will
break
someone’s arm for your misfortune today.” Beaver said, in an almost laughing candor.

“Break both of them for me …
and take their lunches
.” Tim quipped with a smile.  They were never mad at each other very long, especially when it was the start of the
daily grind
the very next light.

“Next stop –
Westbrook
…” A robotic voice loudly toned over the transport’s wave system. The duo let out a deep sigh. This was the only real time that they could spend together, and it was soon to be over until next decision day.

“Well … I guess I’ll see you
next
light.” Beaver spoke with a hint of anxiety. Even though he was of a great stature and strength, he always had a soft spot for his friend. Beaver never liked to go home after Decision. The thought of it, left him with a sinking feeling every time.

“Yes … I guess you will. Unless, the
heathens take me under
…” This was Timmy’s normal departure phrase. Of course, the
heathens
he was referring to was the Academy Elites and all their sadistic playthings. Beaver nodded in agreement, as always.

The transport heaved to a stop at its destination.

“
One more swing?
” Tim questioned.

“
One more swing
…” Beaver stated as they both rose from their seats. They stood motionless until everyone had left.

“Now!”--Tim baulked.

Like children, they both swung on the Rev-pole to the trackstreet below. The words
safety is empirical
sounded as the transport descended into its underground park-stop. They could not help but once again laugh out loud, as they ran together down the prismatic lighted pathway towards their homes, hoping to beat the tict of the tally.

Chapter 4:

“Time to awake Beaver2416…” the nice ceil-bot spoke. The new light was an unwelcomed vision to Beaver. “Your work-job awaits you …
SdotG
.” the Ceil-bot again spoke. The hanging robot then retreated into its former position as the auto straps loosened their grip. The sleep vessel then whirred and slowly moved from its 12 degree horizontal angle to a vertical upright position.

“Here is a fresh oversuit for you, Beaver2416--Please raise your arms …” The apendage-like robot dropped down from the ceiling with an open, unfastened oversuit. It engulfed Beaver and seemingly molded itself to the contours of his body. As the ceil-bot retracted, it quickly fastened every chase-snap in its ascension.

“There you go …
is that better
?”

Beaver nodded with a smile, as he lifted his left foot.

Usually, it was the left foot first. However, sometimes he would be thrown off balance on the right by the vacu-bot’s other mode:
shoe-clean
and
shoe-transfer
. Beaver still hated the thing for suctioning and destroying one of his shoes, but that incident happened in
vacu-mode
not
shoe-mode
. So, Beaver was much more tolerant towards this mechanized menace in the light. He saw it as a split personality, much like himself. 

“Here, left…Beet.” it said as it strapped on his first shoe. 

“Right, now… Beet.”

“OW! I’ll do it myself …” Beaver interjected with a morning grumble.

The right shoe had a problem.

The vacu-bot tried to put on the shoe backwards!

“
Sorry Beet
…” it bellowed as it scurried out of the room, back to its mode of suctioning.

“Tommymop!” Beaver shouted, as he turned around and strapped his shoe, and also left the room. The bad ceil-bot suddenly dropped in front of his face, near the threshold of the sleep chamber.

“
Did you sanitize yet?
” it said already knowing the answer, as it always asks.

“
No
” Beaver interjected, as he did every single light.

“
Then march, mister!
” the ceil-bot demanded, pointing like thousands of times before, towards the Basintory.

“Welcome Beaver2416!” was the redundant call as Beaver stepped inside. The Lev-basin quickly rammed its oral cleaning appendage into his mouth and latched on to his goodi-port. As it cleaned Beaver’s kisser and vacuumed his waste matter as usual; Beaver was still groggy and grouchy. The last thing that he wanted to do, is go to his work-job at Perpetua.

“Sanitization is complete …” the Lev-basin sounded, as it unlocked and retreated into its former position. Beaver let out an agitated sigh because he knew what was going to happen next.

“Did you sanitize yet?” the bad ceil-bot demanded.

“
Yes
!” Beaver shouted. He wanted nothing more than to slap the thing silly and take it apart piece by piece.

“Good! Now get to work, and
watch your tone Mister
!” it said with an outstretched mechanized finger.

Beaver in his sluggish state could only roll his eyes and stomp off like a perturbed seven year old.  As he walked up the hallway, he could catch a faint whiff of something he really didn’t like.

“
Granfibrous
…” he said to himself with a frown.

“Goodlight to you Beaver2416 … here is your lightfast before your work--
SdotG
.” The victual android said.

“Thank you Viki, SdotG.” Beaver grumbled, now with a greater sense of consciousness.

“There is also synth-fee … hopely to licking.” The android said, pointing at the small cup of fake coffee.

Synth-fee was a coffee substitute (because coffee beans are extinct, if you were paying attention) created by the Academy scientists. Those few elders, who knew was real coffee tasted like, compare the substitute to the flavorings of dry roasted peanuts with a hint of chalky antacids. Beaver drank it just the same.

“Thank you again, Viki.” he said as he took his place on the uncomfortable stool. The bowl of Granfibrous served before him was detestable yet edible. Granfibrous is a mishmash of synthetic wheat and flaxseed coupled with an edible paste used in neo-leather production. It is always served hot and soaking in reconstituted coconut milk, to keep it from sticking to the roof of your mouth.

This grub of the lowest form was a part of Acad-rations that are issued to the foot troops. Usually, the rest of the population received them when their surplus was on the verge of spoilage.

Beaver had about half a proc to eat the rest of his bland meal and snag the next transport to Perpetua. He made it a point to always meet up with Timmy2845 to ride together to work. They would never say much however, because far too many ears were listening. There were much more riders in the light than at darktime. This was because almost everyone in Westbrook was regimented by the Academy to rise and leave at the same time on non-decision days. Still, regardless of conversation or the lack there of, he wanted to be by his friend.  It gave him comfort that, in such wickedness surrounding him, they was still a glimmer with Tim of the freedom that once was.

Having friends and the uninhibited right of conversation resembled something like a legendary fairy tale, deep within the chasms of the Archive of Fact. To think out loud, and those thoughts (no matter if they are offensive or accepted) becoming uttered words and phrases, without retaliation or threat of punishment, seemed to Beaver like one of the greatest freedoms that could ever be. He wondered if ever there was a time that this freedom of words and thoughts existed. And if it did, what idiotic thing could have been that would make them surrender such a right. Truly in Beaver’s mind, that would be ranked as one of the largest tragedies of history that could ever be.

As the moments ticted away, he soon dismissed such notions and began thinking about the light ahead. Other than his workjob of hurting people, he had
certain duties
that would arise from time to time. Since the cycle of promotion and production was almost over this span, he greatly sighed; pondering if he would have any
extra-curricular
duties awaiting for him at Perpetua. With each droll bite of his detestable meal, he became sicker inside. One thing that he hated just as much as the Academy and the G.M. was the other part of his workjob. He thought that maybe today, he would escape unscathed.

Probably not
–Beaver thought as he rolled his eyes.

He almost had his lightfast consumed; then
it
started. As if it were a mid-ancient bugle call, Academicis meis, mi Adoráte resonated once again throughout Westbrook. Beaver stood up and raised his hands in salutation to the boring pictures on the progscreen as the victual android did the same. As always, the Great Master then appeared to give his lightmorn time address.

“
Good light to you all, my faithful
…” he blustered with an echoed tone. He of course had the same regalia as yesterday.

Wouldn’t a king get sick of wearing the same thing every day?
--Beaver quickly thought with a sarcastic mental attitude.

As he barked out the need for everyone
giving it there all
; All Beaver could think about was finding Timmy in the crowd and going to his workjob. Beaver hated his Hachiman position at Perpetua, but he hated hearing the voice of the dreary and monotonous G.M. even more. The reverberation of his talk always made Beaver sickened inside. His droll ramblings were to him like the screeching of the transports leading to Tom Bossley. Every turn they make is followed by an ear-piercing squeal, because of their massive weight and armoring. Luckily for him, with a few minor interjections the Great Master had come quickly to his closing tagline.

Beaver almost uttered out loud the word “
Finally!
” but, he pursed his lips tightly to restrain himself.

As the progscreen faded, Beaver and Viki stated in unison “
SdotG
.” Beaver said this motto of his captors with enthusiasm. He did so, not because of any sort of piety; but because he wanted to get out and to the transport as quickly as possible. Beaver reluctantly returned to the last scraps of his lightfast. With several quick digs into his bowl, the destable meal was fully consumed. He had to because he if would leave without finishing, there would be some sort of punishment waiting for him at Perpetua.

“Thank you Viki, it was great!” Beaver said, signifying that he was done. Then without any warning, Beaver seemingly leapt forth out of his house. He bounded past the threshold of his domicile, like a captured deer-dog being set loose in the marshlands. He felt free, if even but for a moment. He made it a point to do the same, every light after the G.M.’s lightmorn address. It was his daily act of hidden rebellion against the Academy. And like a flightless bird, he went from the euphoria of flighted freedom to the suffering of captivity; as his feet touched the pathway below.

“
Come on … before we’re late
!” Timmy2845 barked in front of Beaver’s domicile.

Beaver righted himself and followed the stream of foot traffic towards the transports.

“I almost left you! I want to be as early as possible today … they are bringing in a new shipment, and I don’t want those
worthless heathens
destroying everything!” Timmy bellowed with his usual boisterousness, as they walked together.

Beaver could only shake his head and roll his eyes.

When they broke the horizon, it revealed the transport station before them. It was already overrun with passengers, all scrambling to make entry. It was always this way, after Decision day. The reason was; this was the day that the Elites would show up at every workjob and pretend to act like bosses. It was the one day of the most lashes, beatings, and infusions among the populous. Being late for work on this day
even for a tict
, was almost the same as instant death.

The duo stood idly by as the flood of people slowly thinned.

“There’s a seat for us … come on!” Timmy whooped, pointing towards an empty place on the back of one of the transports.

The pair bustled and shoved until they had claimed their spot. 

“
Made it
…” Beaver quipped as they sat looking at all of the others, still standing in the trackstreet.  Other than the
Elites Only
Quadra-levs and Lev-cycles, this was the only form of transportation for
the commoners
between the prefectures of New Judah. To try to walk on foot would be suicide, because of the
bouncers
that stood at each tube-like borderway. They were programmed to destroy anyone who gets within 25 duo-yards of the entrance, who is not on a transport, or other form of Acad-approved transportation. The Academy did this on purpose to prevent any sort of mass, congregated uprisings among the people. This idea was also adopted by the Academy, from the ideologies of the mid-ancient past. They once called it
segregation
. The only exception to this heavy surveillance was on Decision days, when the Bouncers are put to sleep, and the Elites are more concerned with
imbibing
and Cumal, than monitoring everyone. However, regardless of any Decision day; you still had to use the transports, because the borderways are also electrified.

As they sat in quiet solitude, the transport kept its daily rhythm of stopping and starting, moving ever closer to Tim and Beaver’s unwanted destination. The riding the overcrowded transport after the day’s break from work, was almost always too much for Beaver. Something that Beaver hated, just as much as the G.M.; was crowds of people, especially in enclosed spaces. They always made him very uneasy, sometimes to the point of panic. This was partly due to the fact of his span of torture at the reformer’s camp. As well as, watching his family die at a very young age. But, the other part was his
logical fear
that he had developed, from all of the spans of watching the Academy do whatsoever they wanted, without any form of repentance. Crowds increased the odds of Academy spies and other Elitist scum, looking for excuses to kill people. This was the main reason Beaver and Tim usually said next-to-nothing in the light to each other.

“
It will be OK … we’re almost there
.” Timmy softly spoke to Beaver, like a brother trying to calm down his frightened sibling.

“
Thank you
.” Beaver quietly said, in nervous agitation.

They had already passed through New Dresden and Stowelowly on their trek towards work, and were now slowly descending into the Arcade. Again, their gaze was cast upon the crumbling Arena.

“
Heathen …
” Tim whispered.

“
Yes … Heathen
.” Beaver equally whispered the same.

They did not dare make a strong outburst on the crowded transport. After work, was always more relaxed, with less people and a very slim chance for Academy spies. But in the light, a loud sound of any kind could cause chaos or even death.