Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) (6 page)

Why twice?! Why not just ask once and get out of the way?!
--Beaver thought to himself, with a frown upon his face. This perpetual annoyance was another major reason why Beaver hated the Academy. The Academy techniques of Love / Master were filled to the brim with constant repetitions and affirmations towards the Great Master.

Always repeating … always reassuring …
always reaffirming
—this mechanized annoyance in front of Beaver’s face was of no exception to such programming.

“
Good! Now … get to sleep!
” the Ceil-bot said in an equally sarcastic tone, as it once again folded into the ceiling.

He could only roll his eyes in disgust.

Upon Beaver’s entry into the sleep chamber, the entire room emitted pulsations of red-blue-green light as well as a fine mist of psychotropic drugs filled the air. This was to prepare the mind for entry into a trance-like state. This technique had many, many incarnations. In the early primary spans of this technology, many succumbed to comas and death. Later versions came with wide-spread convulsions and even insanity. However with Beaver’s model, for 2 spans there has been no report of any type of mishaps, other than a slight burning sensation.

Why the Academy would take this risk of bodily harm upon the dwellers of Westbrook in the first place, is because even in the realm of dreams, the Great Master MUST rule and reign. To have random people having random thoughts and dreams would be dangerous to any regimented society. The ability of freethought or freedream could ultimately bring people to the conclusion that the GM was evil or false. Or much worse, encourage them to be rebellious and lead others into their rebellion.

The Academy powers know that dreams make leaders and many well-lead thoughts make dreams. 

To Beaver however, all of the pulse halonone lighting and mind altering drugs had no effect. He of course, went to great lengths to keep this hidden from his captors. Beaver’s sociopathy could make him mimic almost anything that an Academy android was expecting, even to the point of greatly slowing down his heart rate. This over-reliance on autonomy, he always saw as another fatal flaw to the grip of the Academy.

If I can trick them all, maybe someone else could as well …
he thought to himself. Another ceil-bot appeared with long appendage like arms and removed Beaver’s oversuit, replacing it with more suitable attire for sleep.

“
This is much nicer
…”--it spoke in a soothing female voice--“
There … I hope that is more to your liking.
”

“Yes. Thank you.” Beaver interjected and then moved into the proper position, next to the vertical sleep vessel. The auto-straps loosely cinched around his ankles, waist, and wrists. With Beaver secured, the sleep vessel then whirred and slowly moved from its vertical upright position to a 12 degree horizontal angle.

“
Good dark …”
the female voice gently whispered from the ceiling of the sleep chamber. “
Good dark to you …”
Beaver mumbled, as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 3:

Beaver awoke to find his auto-straps loosened and the sun brightening the walls of the sleep chamber, through a small porthole window.

“
Decision day
…” Beaver said to himself with a partial smile. 

He had slept at least 2 procs more than usual. This was highly unusual for Beaver2416. Regardless of the day, Beaver was very punctual. The reason, because of all of the beatings he received as a child star
.
Every time he missed a holopram appearance or was late to an Elitist event, it was a public laugh and smile; followed by the crack of an electro-whip when he was behind closed doors.

“Oh my--I’m late!” he said as came to himself. Beaver rushed to the bureau, grabbed a fresh oversuit and quickly put it on. With it being Decision day, the
nice
ceil-bot was basically switched off, so he had dress himself. As he dashed from the sleep chamber, a voice called from the basintory.

“
Sanitation is recommended
…” the Lev-basin resounded.

“
Oh, get it over with
!” Beaver rudely vented in agitation, as he stomped into the basintory.

“I am … and
watch your tone
.”

Almost every servile robot was set into suspended animation, except for the transports, sentries, and the basintories. (for obvious reasons) The Lev-basin clicked and whirred, as went to its work. After a few moments the familiar “
Sanitation is complete
…” bellowed. The autonomy then detached and returned to its former placement. Beaver quickly stormed out in a huff. He never liked to be late to anything.

Upon sight of the threshold of the entryway, Beaver could see Timmy2845 standing in the pathway with great agitation.

“
Finally
!” Timmy shouted, with his hand on his hip, “I was about to leave
without the likes of you
!”

“I’m sorry …
I overslept
.” Beaver said with a solemnity.

Every Decision day consisted of the same ritual. Tim would show up at Beaver’s house, and then they would take a transport into Stowelowly. Like young boys traipsing into the woods, they did this looking for whatever trouble they could get into.

“
Come on! We are going to miss the next transport
!” Timmy again shouted. Like children, they both raced towards the trackstreet.  As the transport slowly pulled away, the duo leaped onto the side, grabbing and swinging on the rev-pole, and flung themselves into an empty seat.

“
Safety is empirical,
” the mechanized driver said with his robotic head turned towards Beaver and Tim. They could not help themselves from laughing out loud at the driver’s statement. It was a rare treat to seem rebellious, even though it was nothing more than what the average child would do. Normally, such an outburst would merit the complete stoppage of the transport, followed by the ear-piercing screech of a Hen-whistle.

The slang Hen-whistle or more correctly, Hypersonic Crowd Disbursement Device (HCDD) was something partially invented in the mid-ancient era that was greatly improved upon by Academy scientists. It is so effective there usually was no need for roving bands of riot police or other military throughout the streets of New Judah. The small mounted weapon would simply target the offender with the greatest of accuracy. Then, blast them with an intensive, focused beam of hypersonic sound waves that could knock a person off their feet, even rendering them unconscious. Many, who have succumbed to the call of the hen-whistle, compare the sensation to being punched in the face by a Boxwrestling champion. However, seeing that it was a Decision day, the mechanized driver was luckily pre-set to ignore such juvenile behavior from the likes of Beaver and Tim.

“You’re
lucky
you didn’t get busted in the chops from
old Henny
!” a nearby patron stated as he looked at Tim and Beaver with widened eyes. He had a scraggly face and was dressed in tattered clothes. Beaver studied him attentively as he spoke, as if he somehow had met him before, in another place.

“
Excuse me--
what are
chops
!? I have
always
wondered what they were.” Timmy rudely intruded.

The man just rolled his eyes and turned back around in his seat.

“
OW! What was that for?
” Tim said grasping his arm in pain.

“
Quit being rude
…” Beaver said with a staunch persona.

“I was only
trying
to get information. I’ve heard that expression all my life, and yet no one knows what a
chop
is.”

“Still … it’s rude to be
so cynical
all the time.”

The moments ticked by as they sat in silence on the path to Stowelowly. They both prostrated in agitation of each other, much like a dating couple. They would not as so much look at one another.

“… you know, by the way you both act I would guess that you were
enjoined in union
.” The strange man in front of them once again spoke.

The duo let out a huff at such an absurd statement.

“To answer your question--
Chop
comes from an ancient word meaning ‘
face or lip
.’ It is also in reference to certain cuts of meat from many extinct animals.” The strange man told, as if he was a savant or oracle of useless knowledge. 

“
Thank you
!” Timmy said, with his arms still crossed in agitation.

“
Any time…
” the strange man stated as he turned back around in his seat.

Again, they sat in silence as Stowelowly started to breach the horizon. Beaver thought hard about their near-by visitor. It was a very dangerous thing to attempt to make acquaintances among the population. On a routine basis, the Academy would send out spies, known far and wide as
turncoats.
Their purpose was to intermingle and befriend anyone the Academy deemed to be flirting with disaster, against the Edict.  This was of course to gain their trust, find out their hidden information to report, and ultimately destroy them.

With a face of great contemplation, Beaver carefully spoke, “
Wh … what’s your name
?”

It was a very rare occurrence for Beaver, or for that matter anyone else; to ask this sort of question. Timmy2845 looked shocked as if transport was about to crash, or the sky was falling.

“
BEAVER!
” Timmy shouted and hit Beaver’s arm.

Beaver did not move in retaliation, as he knew fully why Tim had hit him. He just sat attentively staring at the stranger’s head, hoping for an honest reply. After a few moments, the transport stopped.

“
Stowelowly--please exit with care
…” a robotic voice said. Most of the patrons on board stood to their feet to exit. Beaver still sat, holding on to a glimmer of hope of a quick answer to his question. The man slowly rose and turned to leave the transport.

“
Call me Morgan
…” he said in a whispered tone, as he disappeared from view.

Beaver closed his eyes momentarily. It was as if he had heard this name before, although he did not have a clue as to where.

Not the bunker, or the Church, or the camp--where?
He thought to himself.

His moment of contemplation was interrupted with a shove.

“
Come on Beaver
! It’s about to start up again …” Timmy said, trying to leave.

Beaver leaped up from his seat and once again swung from the rev-pole to the ground below. Timmy did the same maneuver. Once again, there was a faint call from the driver, “
Safety is empirical
…” as it gained momentum towards The Arcade. The duo again laughed out loud, breaking their former icy setting.

Realizing what had just happened, Beaver spun around looking for Morgan. Even though only a few ticts had passed, he was nowhere to be found. Beaver suddenly had a sinking feeling of dread come over him.

What if he was a turncoat? What have I done
-- his mind suddenly flooded with logical fear.

“
How could I have been so stupid
!” he audibly whispered.

“I don’t think he was a spy … I think he lives here. Academy spies always live in the Acad-bunkers in New Dresden.
You know that
…” Tim equally whispered, trying to talk sense to his friend.

“Plus--he
stunk
like Stowelowly …” Tim said with a smile.

“
He did … didn’t he
?” Beaver said with a snicker.

Timmy always had a knack for calming Beaver and his many moods.

“Let’s get some Parv-Bacon, before they eat it all …”

Beaver nodded in agreement.

The streets of Stowelowly were abuzz with activity, as they always were each decision day. Very rarely, a rogue Elite would show up; usually looking for a medicinal high. But almost all of the Elites kept a far distance from this retched place. It was seen as a great mark of shame for an Academy Elite to mingle with the “
pariahs
,” as they had come to be known. Stowelowly was brimming with filth and diseases. It was an unwanted place of all the refuse of the Academy’s totalistic society. It was a place to become tainted, marked with the scarlet symbol of “
outcast
.” This is probably why this place of impurity was much more popular than all of New Judah’s museums and places of recreation, among the Selects of Westbrook.

“
Rare timepieces! Shiny things! Plenty to go round! Low costs
!” shouted a voice from the side of the pathway. Beaver and Timmy rolled their eyes and began to walk faster. It was Bobble again.

“Hopefully, he hasn’t seen us…” Tim said, trying to jaunt away as quickly as possible.

“Hey wait! Bobble has goodies! Come see!” he yelled upon sight of the duo.

Beaver and Tim started running and laughing, away from their unwanted pest.

Tim yelled as they ran, “
Dog! Bobble, you Dog
!”

Soon, old Bobble was out of sight, as they turned the corner near the crumbling train station.

“You think we lost him?” Timmy breathlessly spoke.

“If not, I’m going to have to
knock
him out…” Beaver interjected equally out of breath. Bobble was always a perpetual, annoying thorn in their side. One day, Tim decided to be nice and buy some of his ghastly wares. Ever since, Bobble has acted like an extinct rescued puppy, constantly looking to them for support.

“Bobble is such a
bum
! He probably has never
sanitized
in his entire life!” Beaver said, gaining his breath.

“
Yeah, bum … yeah
.” Tim said still looking for more oxygen.

The crumbling old train station, once a place for antiquated transportation; now is a bazaar of all things deemed goldpence worthy. If they didn’t have it, they could probably get it--at the right price, of course. Beaver and Tim, after regaining their composure; slowly walked up the heavily pitted, concrete steps leading inside. The inner façade of the massive building was filled with mid-ancient murals of a time long past. There were faded paintings of smiling children, family picnics, and locomotive engineers tuning their steel horses; that adorned the yellowed walls. More than all of the vendors and wares, Beaver always liked looking at all of the works on the inner façade. Even but for a moment, they gave him hope that there could be life without the ruling Academy.

“
Are you coming
?! I can smell the Parv-bacon cooking …” Tim said in his usual high-strung way.

Beaver snapped back into his unwanted reality.

“
Oh … sure
.” He said, following Tim to the makeshift cart where the aroma originated.

“
That’ll be 200 GP
…” a scraggly sounding voice said with an outstretched metascanner.

“
200! It was only 100 last decision day
!” Tim demanded as he quickly retracted his hand. He always made it a point to frequent this particular vendor, however today he didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Hey!
Supply and demand
! The flocks of parv-kine were
pretty slim
this span, so I got to go up on my price.
Do you want it or not
?!” the gruff man bellowed.

“No, you can keep it!” Tim said with agitation, walking away. He certainly didn’t want to miss his ritual portion of luscious Parv-bacon, but he wasn’t going to pay that much.

“200! I can’t believe that! That’s extortion! That’s robbery! That’s…”