Beaver2416 (Reviler's Affray) Read Online Free PDF Page A

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