“Yes. The plan would work,” said Gora quietly as she kept processing each move in her mind as the beasts placed their cages into the white utility van. “It has to work.”
“You will be able to make your way through the building to find any other guards, right, Tubman?” Hitbear asked the hare. “My prejudices can wait until these missions are complete,” he thought.
“Of course I’m ready, ya stupid bear,” replied Tubman haughtily. “I never lost a single person as a conductor and I don’t plan on getting caught tonight.” Hitbear smirked as much as a bear-man could and then nodded at Tubman. “In fact, I would tell the runaways that if they were scared of getting caught to just leave and go back to the plantation. I wasn’t gonna get caught because of some scared asshole.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t be a liability after all?” thought Hitbear. He raised his eyebrows at her then continued to walk through the steps of the mission one last time. Owlbert flew over and landed on Hitbear’s shoulder. He watched as Hitbear moved his finger from place to place on the map.
Hitbear shooed Owlbert after completing the final walkthrough. “Get in the van,” said Hitbear.
“Ja, on mein way there!” said Owlbert as he flew out the only door that leads outside.
“What happens if this goes wrong?” whispered Gora. “I’d be put in prison for God knows how long and the beasts – my friends! – would be experimented on and tortured and used for war purposes! I can’t let that happen to them!”
A gigantic paw rested on Gora’s tense shoulder. “Follow the plan and we will be in and out of there without a peep. Or a squawk from Einstein,” assured Hitbear. “Do you really think I’d construct a plan that would fail? It’s not like we’re entering Russia during winter or anything!” Hitbear laughed at his self-deprecating joke. “Though, I still would love to turn Moscow into a lake. I would have built a lovely Roman-style house, similar to that of Augustus Caesar’s. A truly beautiful piece of architecture.” He smiled off into the distance.
Gora’s demeanor suddenly changed from that of panic, anxiety, despair and fright to a mood of confidence and excitement. She was finally going to get revenge on a scientist that contributed to try to ruin her career, ruin her life. It was time to begin to ruin their careers, their lives.
“Thank you, Hitbear,” smiled Gora. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?” said Hitbear softly as he watched Gora walk a few feet away to pick up a brown box. There was a blue bow atop the brown box.
Gora handed the box to Hitbear. He had trouble handling the box as he only had one paw. “I meant to give this to you earlier but had to be sure that I could trust you. I was too harsh to you when we first met and I should have been much more kind to a being that was suddenly brought into this world by my hands.”
Hitbear gingerly opened the box the best a bear with one paw could. Inside the box was a shiny titanium bear paw. The paw would work just like his original paw but the claws were noticeably sharper and the cushioned pad of the paw would ease any stress in his bear joints. “When did Gora have time to make this?” thought Hitbear.
“Thank you, Gora,” nodded Hitbear. The pair embraced awkwardly as Hitbear was still trying to hold onto the open box.
“Are you two done fiddling-the-fuck around?” shouted Tubman from the exit of the laboratory, a thick brown door with no window and a mangled handle. “I’m ready to put this Spotila in the ground.”
Gora nodded and walked towards the exit of the lab with Hitbear following. Hitbear fitted his new paw on his stump with great ease and took to all fours as he approached the van. He stepped into the white utility van and caused the vehicle to shake violently until he settled.
Before she began to drive, Gora told the beasts, “I’ll let you know when we get closer to Vancouver. As for now, you don’t have to be in your cages. Relax as needed, friends.”
Hitbear sprawled out in the back of the van and kept testing his claws. Swipe left, swipe right and swipe on his backside to scratch that annoying itch. He was pleased with Gora’s paw attachment for him and he curled up in the back of the van – waiting for the mission to really begin.
Owlbert and Tubman sat near Gora in the front of the van and tried to make small-talk for the nearly three hour drive to Vancouver. Gora appreciated the small-talk as she never had a true chance to practice it on another sentient being for some time.
“So, what did you do before you, uh, made us into these things?” asked Tubman. Tubman was still having a rough time getting used to her new body and her new existence. Her ears would droop forward until Tubman realized and would tighten the ears up.
Gora had told the beasts that they were new beings, new souls, but this didn’t explain the memories that Tubman and the others were having of being human. Tubman vividly remembered each person she saved while working the Underground Railroad and remembered the anguish she faced from headaches in the latter half of her life.
“Basically the same thing I do now,” explained Gora. “I created things from scratch. I was an inventor with a bright future ahead of me before a terrible mishap – er – situation occurred and I couldn’t invent anything to save my life – that’s partially why we’re doing this; getting revenge that is.” Gora kept her eyes glued to the road; she was as focused as she could ever be with confidence pumping through her.
“What was the mishap?” Tubman asked innocently.
“I vouldn’t get into that right now, Tubman!” cheeped Owlbert. “I’m sure Frau Gora vill be glad to tell du ven vee get back to zee lab!”
Gora laughed, “Yes, let’s save that for another time. When I’m not driving a van and can fully express my contempt!” Tubman slumped down in the front seat and peered out the window.
The talk remained minimal for the rest of the three hour scenic drive. Owlbert and Tubman just embraced the lovely sights they were passing by, while Hitbear slept.
“We’re less than five minutes away from Dr. Spotila’s research facility,” said Gora. “Wake up, Hitbear. Everyone else, get ready to kill a lizard lover.”
Chapter 17
Either Way, You’re Screwed
Chairman Obelis had just left one of his many homes to finally meet the revived Senator Joseph McCarthy in Little Rock. He sent Jeffrey away to oversee the facility operations so he would finally have some time to himself. “Jeffrey could be a whiny twat if plans were moving slowly, but Jeffrey was loyal and great at his job of maintaining most of my business assets and campaign,” thought Chairman Obelis. “I couldn’t be in this position without him.”
Unlike Chairman Obelis’ other outposts and hideouts, the one specified for McCarthy was one hiding in plain sight – in the sense that the house could easily be reached. There were very minimal security measures from keeping out journalists, cutthroats, and government agents.
The house McCarthy has been stowed away in sat in a middle-class suburb in the Little Rock area known as Pleasant Valley. The neighborhood was a pleasant mix of old and new money families and was a neighborhood that rarely would expose another resident as each mansion held filthy, family secrets or immoral dealings that could ruin years of work and family history, unless a neighbor with new money was trying to blackmail an old money neighbor. Then it could get ugly in Pleasant Valley. But, mostly, Pleasant Valley was almost safer than Chairman Obelis’ secluded tree-top manor in the forests of Northern California; the only home of Chairman Obelis’ to not have any devices to keep out unwanted guests. No one wanted to climb up a fifty-foot bamboo ladder.
The guards that monitored the house acted as the grandsons of McCarthy. They did not have to worry much, as the residents in Pleasant Valley rarely interacted with one another unless they were forced to interact. It was an easy gig for the guards.
There hadn’t been a single incident of McCarthy trying to escape in the months since he had been revived from his slumber, so the guards often just relaxed on the couch watching television with McCarthy – not saying a word. This
pleased Chairman Obelis, as he would have to dispose of McCarthy for even a single incident that could garner any attention from the public, mainly Pleasant Valley residents.
“Why have you waited so long to speak to him, boss?” Thane asked Chairman Obelis on the drive over to Little Rock. Thane’s disturbingly white skin grew bright in the SUV. The light from his bright skin did not penetrate the tinted windows, however.
“Good question, Thane,” replied Chairman Obelis. “I am hopeful that McCarthy will acquiesce to our time – our technology that we use by being exposed to it slowly. It wouldn’t be wise to instantly throw the man into the fire; he’d be useless to us, as he would likely suffer extreme culture shock.” Chairman Obelis licked his lips and drank a brown liquid out of a wooden cup. “I’ve also had a room fitted specifically as a ‘safe haven’ for McCarthy to return to if the modern times became too overwhelming for the old coot.”
“Boss, you are so smart. I could not even imagine coming up with a plan like that,” said Thane with a great reverence for Chairman Obelis. His skin began to glow as bright as a light bulb and the tinted windows could no longer fully contain the light from his skin. Thane was undoubtedly attracted to Chairman Obelis, yet it wasn’t a sexual attraction that Thane had for his boss like Jeffrey certainly had. Thane saw Chairman Obelis as the father he never had and never knew.
Thane was often told during his youth at an orphanage in Boca Raton that he had been abandoned because he was a “gross white glowing freak that no person would ever love.” The children of the orphanage used Thane as their verbal punching bag. Hurling taunts and chides and swears at Thane whenever they had the chance to do so.
Chairman Obelis and Thane arrived at the cheery homestead well after the sun had set. Thane contained his glowing before exiting the vehicle. He apparently had harnessed the ability to stifle the glow. Did he think depressing thoughts to quell the glow or could he control it when necessary?
“He’s in his room,” one of the guards relayed to Chairman Obelis. “He slowly has been acclimating to the modern times like you wanted. I taught him how to use the Internet and did my best at directing him to the proper resources to update him on important history he may have missed. He is obsessed with communism and the Soviets.” The second guard poked the speaking guard slightly and motioned for the speaking guard to continue. “Ah, yes, he’s also obsessed with BDSM and brunettes. I let him browse those sites because you never said to limit his Internet usage…”
“Wonderful, just wonderful,” smiled Chairman Obelis at the guard. “Thane, stay here with these loyal gentlemen as I meet with our good friend.” Thane obeyed and assumed a guard position. Chairman Obelis walked through the house to the basement door.
Chairman Obelis walked slowly down the creaky basement steps. This may have been the first time in decades where his nerves were getting the best of him. He had worked out billion dollar mergers, had threats made to his life by warlords and frequently made trips to crime-ridden areas, but talking to an old man made him the most nervous he had been in decades. His anxiety perplexed him. He approached the door to McCarthy’s room slowly.
“Knock, knock,” chimed Chairman Obelis as he opened McCarthy’s door. Smells instantly hit Chairman Obelis like a ton of bricks. The room smelled like a mixture of a church pew, scotch and moldy casserole; a stench that caused Chairman Obelis to feverishly wrinkle his nose.
McCarthy was hunched over a tiny desk furiously scribbling on lined paper. He didn’t notice Chairman Obelis enter the room.
“Hello? Senator McCarthy?” said Chairman Obelis.
“What is it?” shouted McCarthy as he kept scribbling on his lined paper. He seemed to have been writing like mad for some time. His drab clothes were drenched in sweat and his hair – what was left of it – was pointing in all directions. “I already ate dinner, leave me alone.”
“Mr. McCarthy, I am Chairman Obelis. The one that has…” paused Chairman Obelis as he examined the 1950s pinup girl on McCarthy’s wall, “revived you for your services. I need your ability to have the public – the American public – eat right out of your hand. Well, my hand in this case.” Chairman Obelis kept his eyes on the pinup girl.
She was a curvy brunette with tight curls and ruby red lipstick. Her legs were crossed in a position that left some imagination for her admirers. The woman was the only colorful part of the poster as the rest of it had faded into a lackluster brown.
“Revive? You mean awaken!” shouted McCarthy as he slapped his desk. “I wasn’t supposed to be ‘revived’ for another fifty god damn years – at minimum. That’s what I was told!” McCarthy kept scribbling on his paper. His body began to sweat more and the scribbling slowly gained in ferocity. He stopped and turned his head slightly to yell, “Who the fuck even are you? Some goose-necked faggot?” McCarthy laughed and slammed his hand loudly on the desk. THWACK.
Chairman Obelis didn’t budge when McCarthy shouted or slapped the desk, nor did he budge when McCarthy tossed a slur his way. His eyes were still swallowing up the pinup girl.
“Quite a beauty, this brunette,” said Chairman Obelis with a smirk. “She hollows out my hungry eyes in a way that no one has in a long time. I’ve never seen someone quite like her. In person, at least.”
McCarthy looked up from his desk and eyed the pinup girl. “She was quite a beauty,” thought McCarthy. He coughed loudly at Chairman Obelis, “So, you aren’t some faggot?”
“I am not a faggot, no. But I would like to kindly ask you to refrain from using such words, Senator.”
McCarthy stood up from his desk and measured up his guest. Chairman Obelis wasn’t muscular but he wasn’t frail; thin but sturdy as he was often described. There was something to Chairman Obelis’ behavior that made McCarthy curious. “Why haven’t you tried to dispose of me?”
“Because I need you, Senator. I need you to help me become President of the United States of America. I need you to help me understand how the government truly works.”
McCarthy guffawed loudly then slapped his knee. He slapped his desk loudly again. THWACK.
“Why do you want to even become President? You’ll have a giant target on your back. Besides, when you become President you don’t even get to call the shots. All these fucking bureaucrats wriggle their way into every meeting; into every injunction; into every fucking ‘secret’ meeting.” McCarthy had subconsciously balled both of his hands into fists.
“Believe me: when I become President – with your help – I will be running the show.”
McCarthy scoffed, “What makes you think that you’ll be running the show?”
“Because I know you didn’t jail communists because they were communists; you jailed, and killed some, because you were paid and told to do so by these ‘bureaucrats’ you, oh, so dearly despise,” stated Chairman Obelis, his voice becoming louder. He finally turned towards McCarthy. “I know that you falsely accused hundreds of people in an attempt to fight communism and socialism and foreigners and atheism, so the U.S. government would look like they gave a damn about the Soviet Union and the nuclear war on the horizon. I am not scared of the people that paid you off and told you to do that, but I need your help to find exactly who they are – what they are. That’s mostly why I need you.”
McCarthy sat down in his desk. He ripped up the sheets he had been scribbling on and took a few deep breaths. He rubbed the top of his head and said, “Finally, I can stop acting like a fucking idiot.”
Taken aback, Chairman Obelis asked, “What? What do you mean?”
“Ever since I was revived – awakened – whatever – I’ve been acting like I still wanted, still needed to find communists. I figured that whatever person or organization revived me would want me to oust more communists – it’s why I faked my heart attack in the first place.”
McCarthy began to slowly pace around the room whilst talking with his hands. He became much calmer the longer he spoke about his past.
“I was told I could either be used la
ter in human history to help the cause against communism, or the next great threat, or I could be disposed of right then and there. I chose the former because I wanted to live. I wanted to live and maybe have a chance to get away from the horrible acts I committed against good people. The idea of forgiveness was what made me want to still live.”
“This is not the McCarthy I expected… This is,” said Chairman Obelis softly, “this is too easy. Do you really want forgiveness? You never seemed like the type to want that sort of luxury; you seemed like the type that opted for cheap liquor and petty revenge.”
“Yes, of course I want forgiveness,” said McCarthy. He began to rub his scraggly hair nervously and placed his left hand in his back pocket.
“Stop lying to me, Joe,” commanded Chairman Obelis as he stood face-to-face with the Senator.
“Fuck off, you frail sack-of-shit!” screamed McCarthy as he turned his back on Chairman Obelis. “I’m no cotton-pickin’ liar!” He spat on the ground and rubbed his foot on the brown saliva. McCarthy grimaced fiercely at his guest over his shoulder.
“Refrain from such words, please,” Chairman Obelis kindly stated. “Tell me the truth and you won’t have to be tortured.”
“Ha! Torture me with what? Your ball sack of a personality?” McCarthy walked over and took a violently swig out of his scotch bottle. “I’m not a liar, Obelis.”
“I’m not going to be the one torturing you, Senator,” smiled Chairman Obelis.
“Some body guard or your faggot lover?” quipped McCarthy. He took another violent swig out of his scotch bottle.
“No. I’ll release you to the bureaucrats that you so greatly despised,” said Chairman Obelis.
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