Beast Machine

by Brad McKinniss

  Hitbear raised his metal paw up, “I think she’s been that rude to me before.”

  “Funny,” replied Tubman. “I’m not sure what even caused that and I don’t even care to find out. What new info have you come up with… on that computer? Is that the correct term?”

  “Yes, computer,” said Hitbear, now lying on his stomach, began tapping carefully on a keyboard with missing keys. The desktop computer and all the wires were splayed all around Hitbear; the monitor sat atop six large books, the tower of the computer rested about six feet away under a table with several moving fans around it to keep it cool, an Ethernet cord for the internet ran under the belly of Hitbear, another monitor also under the table, and a wireless mouse the size of the average woman’s hand under Hitbear’s massive natural bear paw. “I found the man he’s been working for, or at least the last person listed that he worked for.”

  “Go on,” said Tubman. She climbed atop a chair and let her feet hang off the edge. Her ears went floppy.

  Hitbear’s eyes scanned the monitor for more information. “It’s a guy named Chairman Obelis. He’s running for some sort of government position. Ah right here! He’s running for governor! Governor of Arkansas it appears.” He scrolled the screen down to read more information.”

  “Silva is? Why?”

  “No, this Chairman Obelis guy. Silva’s apparent boss. His name, this Obelis guy, is familiar. I remember hearing it during a radio advertisement a few months ago.”

  “Oh, so what do we know about this Obelis guy?”

  “We don’t really need to know anything about him. He doesn’t matter.”

  “Okay, we already knew Silva is connected to the state of Arkansas, so any other information on that screen? What’s Silva been doing for this Obelis guy?”

  “Well, according to this, Silva’s just been a consultant to Chairman Obelis since the campaign for governor began, a few months ago. His title is, um, Consultant on the Well-Being of Animals and Environment to Chairman Obelis Campaign. That’s what it says here at least.”

  “So, he’s an animal guy? Like a veterinarian?” asked Tubman. She kicked her feet gently into the air.

  “Looks like that so far,” replied Hitbear. “It appears more like this Obelis guy wanted Silva’s name recognition; whoa! Holy shit!”

  “What?” said a startled Tubman.

  “I don’t know how we didn’t put that together,” said Hitbear. “Why didn’t any of us realize?”

  “Put what together? Just tell me what you’re talking about bear.”

  “Those Silva nose filter advertisements? The ones that play all day on the radio.” asked Hitbear. Tubman nodded. “Those are made by the Silva we are after.”

  “Huh,” said Tubman. She looked into the air, eyebrows curled downward. “So, uh, what does that have to do with anything? He was a scientist and an inventor – which, again, we already knew. How is that going to help us?”

  “Well, Tubman, give me a damn second!” replied Hitbear. “I’m trying to figure it out.” He quickly began to read what was on the computer monitor, muttering words occasionally.

  Tubman hopped off her chair and walked over to the map of Arkansas they had opened on a table. She looked at the city of Little Rock, where Gora last believed Dr. Silva lived. There was an inset map of just Little Rock in the bottom right corner of the map, where Tubman’s eyes landed. She began to read the neighborhood names of Little Rock.

  Pleasant Valley.

  Hickory Creek.

  Chenal Valley.

  Cammack Village.

  Otter Creek.

  “Nothing too unusual sounding about the neighborhoods,” thought Tubman. Her eyes drifted to the west of the city. There appeared to be nothing but highways and train routes, yet something caught her eyes.

  Just about an inch on the map away from Little Rock sat a small black dot. Above the dot read Pinewood Hills. It wasn’t part of Little Rock’s corporation limits, but was close enough to Little Rock that the mapmakers decided to include it.

  “Hitbear,” said Tubman, looking up from the maps. “Look up the poorest towns surrounding Little Rock.”

  “What for?” he replied. His face was still glued to the monitor. There had to be something about that nose filter that Silva created that would lead the group straight to him. “I’m a little busy here.”

  “Just do it, damn,” said Tubman. She returned to looking at the inset map.

  “Fine,” muttered Hitbear. “What county is it in? I’m sure that’ll be easier.”

  “Uh,” she replied. Her eyes glared over the map and then the inset map for information. “Says Pulaski County. Yeah, Pulaski County. Search for the poorest towns in Pulaski County, Arkansas.”

  “No shit, Arkansas,” said Hitbear. He shook his head, as Tubman giggled slightly.

  “Let me know the results when you get them.”

  “Of course.” He tapped away at the keyboard, moving his plump real fingers quickly. He came to a website for the state of Arkansas. “Let’s see…” he said to himself. “This thing hasn’t been updated in several years, 2010 to be exact. But, there’s really nothing out of the ordinary in terms of income numbers. They’re all roughly the… whoa, there’s one that’s extremely poor town on here.”

  “What’s the name?” asked Tubman.

  “Says Pinewood Hills, the average income there is a paltry $15,500 a year per family of four. Jesus Christ, how can those people live? I don’t even know the standard of living in the United States, but that seems awfully low.”

  “That’s where Silva is.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can’t really tell you why, I just have a feeling he’s there.”

  “A feeling? That’s all you’re going on? Is a feeling?” Hitbear sighed and rubbed his forehead. “A fucking feeling…”

  “Oh shut up, it’s a good feeling. Just look up the main type of jobs that people have there, please. Or just see if there’s anything on the, um, intern-net about Pinewood Hills.”

  “It’s called the internet, but fine – whatever. Guess it can’t hurt.” He shook his head and began to type. He was going to humor Tubman, but he didn’t like wasting time on a mere feeling.

  “Thank you, Hitbear.” Tubman took back her position sitting on a chair, letting her feet dangle. She kept her breathing slow.

  “Found information already.”

  “That was awfully quick.”

  “It’s not a town or anything really – it’s just a trailer park with a few gas stations near it. Pinewood Hills is known as a ‘druggie paradise.’ It’s a ‘rural slum of the greatest proportions’ and ‘Pulaski County’s capital of welfare queens and teenage mothers.’ Seems like a swell place.”

  “That’s just people throwing around names, shame on them.” Tubman shook her head dismissively. “What else?”

  “It’s a bunch more of the same it appears. I’ll go to the most recent information about the trailer park.” He scrolled down and down on the computer screen until he found something intriguing. “Tubman, I think I found something interesting.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Most of the people in the trailer park work at a local mine. That mine closed about a year and a half ago.”

  “Okay.”

  “About eight months ago, some guy buys it up. Everyone in Pinewood Hills get their jobs back.”

  “Well that’s good to hear at least, who’s the guy?”

  “Silva’s boss that’s running for governor, Chairman Obelis.”

  Tubman stood up and grabbed a pen. She circled the small black dot on the inset map of Little Rock.

  -----

  “This time,” said Owlbert, “this time, I vill fly!” He hopped back up onto the table after several attempts at flying. His new wings weren’t damage, but his spirit and chest were feeling the brunt of each fall. “Eins, zwei, drei!” He plunged once more off the table.

  Gora, walking quickly away from the questions Hitbear and Tubman pres
ented, made it to the other side of the laboratory just before Owlbert took another plunge from the table.

  He didn’t fly, but he glided several yards and landed properly on his feet. “Gora! Du saw that?” cheeped Owlbert loudly. “It vas awesome!”

  Gora laughed, “It was awesome, Owlbert. You’re going to need to treat those wings just like they were your birth wings if you want to actually fly.” Owlbert nodded. “Also, if you began from a higher perch you may get more lift under you.”

  “Ja!” replied Owlbert. “Vhy didn’t I realize this sooner?” He hit himself in the face gently with his prosthetic wings. “Vhere ist ein higher perch, Frau Gora?” He cranked his head around and instinctually let out several whoo’s.

  “Hmm,” said Gora. “Let’s see. Can you make it up to the top of two stacked tables?”

  “Ja, mein thinks so!” replied Owlbert. His head was cocked in a way only an owl could have it, completely one hundred and eighty degrees from its natural position. He snapped it back to the front of his body. “But du must help me! I can’t lift ein table! I am ein bird!”

  Gora grabbed another nearby table. She lifted it up and placed it on top of the other table. “This good enough?” she said to Owlbert.

  “Ja, should do!” he cheeped back at Gora.

  “Here I’ll lift you up,” said Gora. She had Owlbert grab on to her arm as she lifted her arm up high enough for Owlbert to pounce off and on to the double-decker tables. “It’s not the sturdiest of things, but it should suffice.” She placed her hand on the top table and moved it a little to show Owlbert the instability of the tables. “I just have one question before you jump off these tables.”

  “Ja, I’m all ears!” he said. He was still trying to get used to his prosthetic wings and the artificial feathers that accompanied the wings.

  “How were you able to fly right from the start?” Gora placed her hand on the left side of her face. “You’d think you would’ve had a learning curve, or at least slight trouble with flying right out of the Beast Machine.”

  Owlbert looked at Gora and cocked his head to the left side. “Gora, I honestly do not know!” He cocked his head to his right side. “I can only guess – ein dangerous thing for scientists! – that being able to fly right away in mein second life vas merely instinctual of mein owl side. That owl side that du helped create!” He smiled the best an owl could at Gora and clicked his beak happily.

  Click, click, click.

  Gora removed her left hand from her face. “I suppose that makes the most sense.” She blinked her eyes slowly. “Now, let’s see you fly again, damn it!”

  “Ja, here we go!”

  He took the plunge once more.

  Chapter 37

  Pledging Allegiance

  A gentle rap on the door could be heard.

  Tnok-nok.

  McCarthy awoke drenched in fear, confusion, and sweat. His breathing was heavy and difficult; his thoughts were shooting all over his mind like a hornet in a jar.

  “Glad to see you’re awake,” said Chairman Obelis. He walked into the bedroom that was reserved for McCarthy. Many knick-knacks from McCarthy’s days were spread across the room, just like in the interim room he was first placed in. A large camera under a half sphere of glass, directly in the middle of the ceiling, bore down on both men. “You’ve been out cold for a few days now, I was beginning to worry.”

  “Really?” McCarthy still breathing heavily. His head slowly looked about the room, searching for any answers. “What happened?”

  Chairman Obelis pulled a wooden chair from a nearby desk next to McCarthy. “After that, um, Bob fellow left, you were found passed out on the floor. It was as if you were laid low by Bob, or maybe something less sinister had happened. There were no marks on your body to indicate struggle, so Silva deemed that stress may have been the reason for your collapse.”

  “Silva was here? Why wasn’t he continuing his work?”

  “I wanted to be sure you were fine – he hooked you up to all these machines to keep you alive.”

  McCarthy laid his head back down on his pillow then examined the machines on both sides of his bed. The sounds the machines created finally echoed into his ears and the constraint of the wires from the machines could finally be felt.

  “You kept me alive? Thank you,” said McCarthy weakly. He gulped then blinked slowly. “I know you need me for information, but others I’ve dealt with would have let me die regardless. I thank you for that.”

  Chairman Obelis smiled, “You are quite welcome, Joe. You’ve shown loyalty these past few months, even if you didn’t necessarily mean it.”

  McCarthy laughed timidly. He averted his eyes from Chairman Obelis’. He couldn’t expose the Bob character as Malthus, the leader of The Flagship. His death would be more than assured if he revealed Malthus. But he wanted to desperately let someone else know, so he didn’t have to struggle alone. “Can I now trust Chairman Obelis? Even after divulging the information that is likely keeping me alive?” he thought.

  “Something on your mind, Joe?” pried Chairman Obelis.

  “No,” sighed McCarthy. “Well, yes, I, uh, no – nevermind.”

  Chairman Obelis blinked his eyes slowly. “You’re safe to tell me anything. As long as it’s the truth.” His eyes focused in McCarthy’s.

  “You’ll have me killed once I tell you,” said McCarthy. His breathing became more labored. “I know I’ve done horrible things in my past, but I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be tortured or poisoned or become a science project. I just want to live. This information I hold up here,” he pointed to his head, “is the only thing keeping me alive.”

  Chairman Obelis laughed quietly, “Joe, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

  McCarthy grumbled.

  Chairman Obelis continued, “All the information you hold about The Flagship is important to my grand plan, but your experience in politics, human affairs and insider knowledge is what I desire most.”

  McCarthy’s eyes shifted again; he had to avoid Chairman Obelis’ prying eyes.

  “How do you think I knew that you were in a comatose state under your burial spot?”

  McCarthy blinked heavily and looked at Chairman Obelis; he couldn’t resist looking into the delving eyes of Chairman Obelis. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I have my ways,” smiled Chairman Obelis, “as you have your ways. I will say that you aren’t the only person they did that to, but they weren’t as important to me as you.” Chairman Obelis flared his nose widely. “Now, tell me what is it that is bothering you so?” His eyes latched onto McCarthy’s eyelids and held them open.

  “I can’t!” squealed McCarthy. His eyes bulged. “They’ll kill me. They will!”

  “You are protected here, Joe. I promise you that. I am here to help – to help you reach your full potential.”

  McCarthy’s breathing began to spiral out of control. Chairman Obelis calmly increased the pace of McCarthy’s drip.

  “Calm, stay calm,” said Chairman Obelis softly, “you must not leave us again, Joe. You are important to me – to the world. Tell me how you became incapacitated; tell me what’s troubling you.”

  McCarthy’s breathing slowed and his eyes widened. He crinkled his nose then felt his heart beat with his left hand. It was slow, much slower than it had ever been in his lifetime. His mind was focused, so clear.

  “Joe?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” McCarthy replied. “What do you need, again?”

  Chairman Obelis smiled, “Tell me what has been on your mind.”

  “I feel as if I can finally tell you,” replied McCarthy. “That man, that Bob guy. He is…” McCarthy, albeit clearer of mind, tried to resist saying it. He could no longer resist. “He’s Malthus. He’s the leader of The Flagship.”

  “How do you know?” asked Chairman Obelis, inching closer to McCarthy.

  McCarthy touched his neck slowly, “Tattoo of a syringe. It’s on his neck. He has it on him no mat
ter the person he is.”

  “Person that he is? What do you mean?”

  “I may as well let you in on it since I’m this far in,” said McCarthy steadily. He blinked down like there was molasses in his eyes. “These Flagship people, they can stay living for years and years and years.” McCarthy coughed a mucus laden cough. “I was promised this when they were done helping the Earth… recover. I knew something fishy was up when a non-Flagship woke me. Something must have spiraled out of control… they’ve never lost control.”

  “How do they stay living for so long?”

  McCarthy motioned for Chairman Obelis to hand him the glass of water on the nightstand. Chairman Obelis handed McCarthy the glass. After a large, dawdling gulp, McCarthy replied, “I’m not completely sure, honestly. They’re not shapeshifters like in the folksy myths – they can’t just become whatever they want. It takes several years for them to become someone new. I was never let in on how they do it, but I often met their new bodies after they switched over.” McCarthy felt his heartbeat again. Still slow and steady. “Malthus was one of the few that rarely changed his look; he was rarely in the public eye… It’s shocking, to me, that he changed now. Why now?”

  “That’s something my father never mentioned,” said Chairman Obelis. He bit his lip. “What did you mean by recover? What are they trying to do to help the earth recover?”

  “They’re all about saving the planet – not in a ‘free love’ hippie sense, but in a save the planet from impending doom sense. They’ve always understood how burdensome humans have become on the Earth and they will do, and have done, anything necessary to keep the Earth safe by culling large populations of humans: starting wars, inducing famine, planting disease, bribing politicians to force policy, a slew of natural disasters and so on.” McCarthy took another drink of his water. “Except those things rarely took out enough of the population to keep things in order for the long run of humanity. They constantly prodded nations to fight one another; it was their go-to and simplest method.” McCarthy gulped down more water. “Keeping the human population low has always been of the utmost importance to The Flagship. Yet, something must have happened within the group because the Earth is swarming with us, humans.”