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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.
    False Christ … false Christ-- Beaver mentally repeated to himself.
    He really didn’t know what a Christ even was, but the term false fit in his mind with the greatest of accuracy.
    After a proc of fluffy banter, the potentate ended his monologue with the tagline:
    “ Strength, Discipline, Order--My word is truth, my word is god. ”
    --This is the Academy’s motto.
    These words are found everywhere throughout the Academy controlled lands. They are inscribed, carved, painted, plastered, lasered, and written on virtually everything deemed official by the Elites. This phrase is so prevalent in Academy culture, that it is most simply known and repeated as SDOTG (pronounced S-dot-G). Then, the progscreen faded to black and the victual android lowered its mechanized arms, as it spun back around.
    “ SdotG …” Beaver reluctantly interjected as he lowered his arms from his salute.
    He turned and once again took his place at the uncomfortable stool, slumping in silence. It was not much longer before the Vacu-bot would appear, as it did every night after the Great Master’s address. Beaver always hated the thing, because in his mind it was so rude. It would suck up anything that crosses its path. One time it even suctioned one of Beaver’s shoes right off his feet. He tried to explain what had happened to his superiors at Perpetua, but they did not believe him. He was lashed five times with an Elite’s cane, and then fined One hundred Goldpence for a replacement shoe.
    The whole system of Electronic Goldpence (or GP for short) was nothing more than a joke among Selects. It was the official Academy currency, yet there was next to nothing that Select members could really use it for. Even though, each and every workjob had its own level of wages; everything for the Selects was regimented and rationed. To them, it was more like an elaborate zoo, with strict feeding times, viewing times, and cleaning times. The far-past ideology of Capitalism, or more correctly, the right to own and hold capital was almost non-existent among Selects.
    Elites, as well as the Humbles, had their own forms of commerce. The Selects however, are barred from any form of trade, except on Decision days. Even then, there was nothing that could be bought and brought into their homes; other than Academy issued, upgraded equipment such as new androids or progscreens. You could not buy a charm or trinket or even a common shard of ancient glass and bring it into your domicile. The Ada-lasers with their shadow-hadar scanners made it virtually impossible to bring any sort of non-Academy issued item into your home. So for the Selects, their sort of shopping was usually confined to consumptives like foods and drugs. It was not uncommon for Selects to horde GP’s for spans only to be used to get wasted on synth-liquor or overdose using mid-ancient drugs on their chosen decision day.
    The official Academy stance on this issue, from the Lev-desk of the G.M. is “ If they live, they better work their quota the next day. If they die, the more ration and GP’s for everyone else. ”
    Usually, when someone died or killed themselves, that was when the Academy felt benevolent and gave at random, a greater ration or more GP linked to a