Beast Machine

by Brad McKinniss

  “So we’re going with this stupid football excuse,” complained McCarthy. He removed his handkerchief from his back pocket then sneezed four old-man sneezes into it. Colorless slime eschewed from his nose. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, people will believe anything nowadays. But, why does it fucking matter anyhow? We’re going to be using that damn Carter implant thingie-ma-jig.” His body held up surprisingly well for an alcoholic and all-around unfit human being that had been stuck in a comatose state for decades. He walked with a limp at times and had droopy skin folds, but was healthier than most geriatrics. He wasn’t incontinent, to the delight of everyone around him.

  “Carda Implant,” interrupted Chairman Obelis as he sipped on a weak scotch in a slightly warped steel cup with the name Jozy etched into the cup. Liquor was not often a drink of choice for Chairman Obelis, but the stress from the last debate was getting to him. He didn’t smoke, deal in flesh or partake in prescription pills, so he found refuge elsewhere.

  “Whatever,” said McCarthy in a gruff tone. The old man had been given a choice in what clothes he would like to wear and McCarthy opted for a blue Hawaiian shirt and long brown khakis. McCarthy looked like the typical, old, white American man on vacation, or just lounging around during the summer. Jeffrey opposed this look because Jeffrey wanted everyone to look fashionable even when doing non-fashionable jobs, but McCarthy’s rebuttal to Jeffrey included a long, viscous burst of methane and a loogie spat on the ground.

  “Why does it matter what he says? No one answered that question!” He sneezed a few more times, without the use of his handkerchief. The slime from his nostrils oozed down his face. McCarthy used his new blue Hawaiian shirt to wipe the slime off his face. It was an effortless action.

  Jeffrey squeezed his face as small as he could after witnessing McCarthy’s latest disgusting act. His throat swelled with bile and he nearly vomited.

  After regaining his composure, Jeffrey said, “Because we still need other Americans, and eventually other humans in other countries, to buy into what we’re saying if Chairman Obelis wants to become president! Just because we can infiltrate a lowly state like Arkansas with a bioengineering tactic doesn’t mean we can always use that tactic. The Carda Implants can only be doled out so quickly and only Silva knows how to implement them. For now.”

  Chairman Obelis snapped his fingers, “That’s what needs to be done to quicken the process!” He took a large gulp of his drink.

  “What?” asked Jeffrey. “What do you mean?”

  Thinking out loud, Chairman Obelis said, “Silva needs to either teach doctors how to do the procedure, which is out of the question because only so many doctors can keep their mouths shut. Or the Carda implant can be marketed as something entirely different and sold as a sought after procedure.”

  “How?” asked Jeffrey curiously. Jeffrey genuinely wanted to know what his mentor, and hopefully future significant other, had planned to continue his grand plot.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” said McCarthy through muffled, soggy coughs. “There’s no fucking need to market some God damn product; just put it inside all these idiot Arkansans brains, or wherever you put the thing, and they’ll be your slaves.” Chairman Obelis cringed at the word slaves. “It’s your fault for not sticking to my God damn opening statement, but no you had to be all Mr. Bigshot for some-fucking-reason and cause a scene. You knew those people could be temperamental. Now we’re the story of the week and month and the race for Governor of Arkansas will likely face more scrutiny than we needed! We could have crept by silently, only gaining the attention of Arkansas and maybe surrounding states, but you had to do your own thing.” McCarthy twirled his finger antagonistically at Chairman Obelis and Jeffrey; Chairman Obelis’ nose flared in annoyance. The room fell quiet for a few moments before McCarthy’s body ended the short silence with a vigorous fart.

  McCarthy withdrew his handkerchief and coughed loudly into it, somehow not touching the slime left by previous sneezes. “If you stuck by my opening statement, you could have earned their trust legitimately, albeit not truthfully. It would have been simple, quiet and without alerting the national media. Now they’re going to send in their goon squads wherever you go. Fucking idiot.” He hacked loudly into the handkerchief thrice more.

  “I thought you said McCarthy knew you would be experimenting at Bella Vista?” asked Jeffrey, clearly bewildered but overall unaffected by this disclosure.

  “Ah, no,” said Chairman Obelis, “He didn’t know. He didn’t need to know; I’m the one running the show you petulant geezer. God damn you’re disgusting.” Chairman Obelis stared daggers at McCarthy; he had not expected McCarthy to be this insubordinate. “You’re only here because I will need information about certain persons in Congress and beyond.”

  McCarthy, dismissing what Chairman Obelis had just said, scoffed loudly, “Now it’s all over the country on these stupid television news stations that constantly play the same crap over and over again. Does nothing new ever happen in this fucking country? Isn’t the country struggling economically? Aren’t we at war with a bunch of countries? Why give this particular race the unnecessary fucking attention?” McCarthy tapped his temples and made notice of the news anchor on the closest television, “She’s got wonderful jugs, though. I’d love to suffocate between them. Hell, I’d settle for being her bike seat.” McCarthy giggled at his immature remarks. Jeffrey rolled his eyes.

  Chairman Obelis walked over to where McCarthy was seated. “You will do as you are told and only offer information when it is pertinent, you got that?” McCarthy’s eyes scrunched tightly as he focused on Chairman Obelis.

  “Fuck you,” shouted McCarthy. Jeffrey shrieked at McCarthy. Chairman Obelis dumped his scotch on McCarthy’s head, causing the old man to panic and become sticky – not the good kind of sticky either – though McCarthy was already covered in his own nose goo from earlier. McCarthy groaned loudly and made spitting noises and feebly swatted at Chairman Obelis to no avail.

  “That is your last warning, Joe.” Chairman Obelis dropped the cup next to McCarthy’s chair causing a loud BANG and a rolling metal sound of clinking and clanking before it hit a nearby wall. Chairman Obelis turned on his heel with the agility of a professional wrestler and walked calmly towards the exit of the control room.

  Jeffrey was stunned by his boss’s unusually rash decision. Jeffrey had known Chairman Obelis long enough to know that Chairman Obelis always made calculated decisions, no matter the situation at hand. Every single move made by the billionaire was supposed to be made.

  Chairman Obelis had had dinner with drug warlords in Nigeria years ago, recalled Jeffrey to himself, and could have easily hired mercenaries to kill the warlords. Chairman Obelis also could have poisoned the men or done a myriad of other things to kill them, but, instead, Chairman Obelis taught them how to be real leaders; how to cooperate with others, even those of differing opinions, and how to truly settle arguments with words, not guns or bombs. Chairman Obelis wanted these warlords to be human to their fellow humans, a tactic that the West had never tried with them.

  Roughly a week after that dinner, those warlords were killed by neighboring tribes because the warlords wanted to “talk it over” while the neighboring tribes wanted to spill the blood of the warlords after decades of bloodshed. Was it Chairman Obelis’ plan all along to have the tribes kill the warlords?

  “Who knows,” wondered Jeffrey, but the neighboring tribes truly were fortunate to have been given brand new weaponry by an unknown force before the warlords wanted to “talk it over.”

  Chairman Obelis stopped short of the exit and spun around on his heel, again showcasing his agility. “Joe is right, however,” sighed Chairman Obelis. McCarthy stopped groaning and Jeffrey’s interest piqued again. Instead of dropping his head, like most would, Chairman Obelis held his head high when he was wrong. “It would be silly to openly market the Carda Implant, as the FDA and other entities would want to get their paws on it to regulate it, to copy it, t
o abuse it. No administration would ever allow such a device to happen – at least a device that is not in their control. We could mask the Carda Implant as something else entirely, but it would still be put through endless trials and we just do not have that sort of time to waste. The FDA is slower than molasses.”

  Chairman Obelis walked back toward McCarthy. “Go get a towel and dry yourself off. I apologize for acting in an obscene and childish manner.” He stood over McCarthy, who was a large and powerful man in his youth, waiting for the former Senator to stand up and go clean himself up. Chairman Obelis wanted to intimidate McCarthy to show him which man was calling the shots.

  McCarthy stood up with a glare of contempt directed at Chairman Obelis. McCarthy’s skin was hanging off his bones and his eyes drooped lower than an elderly man’s testicles on a hot summer day. “Yes, you did act like a baby,” said McCarthy, causing Jeffrey to stand up. Chairman Obelis motioned Jeffrey to sit down. “But – I forgive you, sir.” McCarthy nodded his head in obedience and slowly scurried away as fast as an old man could, his skin still disgustingly droopy and sticky. He, who once powerful in his youth, was now delicate and fat.

  Chairman Obelis and Jeffrey watched as McCarthy left the control room. Jeffrey let out an audible guffaw at the expense of the Senator.

  “So, what’s the new plan, Huxley?” asked Jeffrey once McCarthy was out of ear shot. Jeffrey muted the televisions in the control room by putting both hands near his ears and then quickly clasping them tight. The televisions abided by Jeffrey’s command.

  “You call me Chairman Obelis,” said Chairman Obelis. His eyes glaring at Jeffrey for a brief moment, but the irritation quickly abated. Jeffrey frowned. “The new plan is to get Silva to operate on as many local doctors as possible to put the Carda Implant in the doctors, but with a little variance added.” Chairman Obelis bent down and picked up the cup he dropped near McCarthy, accidently putting his rear end in perfect view of Jeffrey’s wanting eyes.

  Jeffrey bit his lip during this moment of pure bliss. “I’d love to get inside that,” thought Jeffrey. “His backside fits perfectly in those pants.”

  Chairman Obelis stood up and tossed the empty cup in a nearby sink. Clink, clank, clink.

  “That little variance will be that the doctor’s suggest adding the filter to their patients for any ailment, at little to no cost to the patient or their insurer. The Carda Implant will be added into their patient’s brain stem during the nasal filter procedure, thus giving us a faster diffusion rate through Arkansas, and possibly the surrounding states. Not to mention the rate of lung ailments should diminish over the years.”

  “But you just said the FDA would look into the Carda implant and the filter once they catch wind of it?”

  “I did, but do you think I’m that daft?” Chairman Obelis began to slowly walk away again. He stopped short of the exit for a second time. “Silva already had the filter pass FDA tests – a month ago. It’s under Silva’s domain, not mine. It’ll show up as ‘nasal filter’, I believe, on the patient’s file and insurance.” Chairman Obelis grinned at Jeffrey before leaving the room. “The filter is legal, but no one has to know about the Carda implants.”

  Chapter 26

  Trailer Trash Living

  The sun was just inching its way above the eastern horizon. It shot through the weak clouds in the distance at the speed of, well, light. The sunlight was particularly brilliant on this Wednesday morning in rural Arkansas. It shone brightly on a trailer park named “Pinewood Hills.”

  Each trailer was, somehow, a different color of brown. Some were dark brown from soot; others light brown from being in the sun for years; some were rust brown with holes in the sides; and a handful were newer trailers that were just beige that would eventually be dark brown, light brown, or rust brown with holes in the sides.

  Dogs and cats, some wild, some domesticated, could be found lurking past the trailers in search of food, water, a mate to birth more kittens or puppies, or shelter from Pinewood Hills’ inhabitants. Fast food wrappers, used and unused rubbers, and beer cases were strewn throughout the community, but was merely brushed off or run over on the dirt paths that were used as roads inside the community. Children of the community would make use of the trash lying about their neighborhood for fun: soccer, stick ball, ‘trash tag’ and water balloon fights where the children collect the rubbers (used and unused) and fill them up with water.

  Amongst the trash, children and the animals typically laid several drunks, junkies and the mentally perturbed – though, the latter could be used to describe all of these people. It wasn’t a pleasant looking community, this Pinewood Hills, but it was a place many called home for decades. Things were changing, slowly, for some residents. Particularly for the residents that worked at the reopened mine owned by Chairman Obelis. Their trailers were still an ugly dark brown, light brown, or rust brown with holes in the sides, but their minds – their minds! – were changing for the better.

  “Um, honey,” said a monotone but pleasant sounding man’s voice, “could you grab my new thermos from the cupboard, please? I’m back here putting on my uniform and shoes. It’s taking longer than expected.” The man was back in his small bedroom and the dirty floor creaked with every step he took. Wenk, wenk, wenk the floor told the man every step. Wenk, wenk, wenk roughly translated to, “Fix us, fix us, fix us.”

  “Huh?” replied a woman’s voice. “Why don’t you get it y’self? I ain’t uh slave fo’ you.” The woman groaned loudly. It was a painful sounding groan. The kind of groan one makes when they are constipated and nauseous.

  “Ha! You’re right, I’ve got legs don’t I?” replied the man. Wenk, wenk, wenk. He exited the bathroom with his work uniform on, his boots on and his face freshly dried after washing it clean. It was a navy blue mining uniform and the nametag stitched in red read Mandrake. “You look lovely today, honey!”

  The woman was sitting in a rickety sofa chair that had more puke stains and rips than a couch at the county dump. In fact, the woman’s yellow-brown puke puddle from the night before was still fresh on the left side of the sofa chair. She went out last night, but couldn’t remember where and she couldn’t remember how she got home.

  Giant dream catcher earrings hung from her ear lobes, glimmering at the points where sunlight shot through the windows. Her ‘going out’ attire consisted of a ragged Coors Light shirt, a bedazzled strapless bra and jeans with holes at each knee. Despite the woman’s less than pleasant appearance, Mandrake’s compliment was sincere.

  “Fuck you,” said the woman with her eyes closed. “I’s miss my ole Charlie baby. He was a real man.” She moaned seductively. “He was a gritty man; he was still so sweet and innocent but real dirty.” The woman opened her eyes and stretched her arms at Mandrake. “Come do some pills wit’ me, baby. We can watch that movie you love with all the midgets named Frodo! Charlie never would give up th’chance to watch those movies!” Her eyes, lazy and bloodshot, followed Mandrake’s short journey around the trailer as he looked for his thermos and tried to tidy up as best as he could before work. Wenk, wenk, wenk.

  “Thanks for the offer, honey, but I have to go to work!” He pulled a comb out of his pocket and combed his hair to his liking. He grabbed his thermos out of the cupboard, “Ah! There it is!”, and poured fresh coffee from the pot. “Smells like heaven!” The thermos and coffee maker were brand new additions to the trailer after Mandrake was rehired at the coal mine, but the items were so nice and new that their glistening bodies stuck out horribly in the musty, stain filled trailer. “Do-dah, do-dee, heavenly to me! You are so heavenly to me!” sang Mandrake lightly. He turned toward the woman sitting in the sofa chair and winked.

  Charles Mandrake was a much more pleasant man now that he had the Carda Implant, unknowingly, inserted into his brain stem. He still had a few physical indicators of his past – the yellowed teeth, leathery skin, and grimy hair – but he began to work towards correcting his life as a whole. “The physical aspects will be co
rrected with hard work,” his new mind kept telling him. His old mind obliged to stay out of the way. For good.

  “All you people workin’ at dat new mine are ackin’ weird and shit.”

  “It’s not a new mine, dear. It’s the same, but under new ownership!”

  The woman scoffed loudly and scratched under her breast to find an itch that had been bothering her for days. She hated this new man. She was quite happy floating through life on drugs, beer and canned food. Why couldn’t he anymore?

  “Oh, don’t scoff! Us miners are acting, and feeling, much better, honey! These filter things have changed around all the miners’ lives! The things I can smell now are wonderful, though I’d wish you’d clean up your messes some days…” He kept a smile on his face but glared at the obvious human made spots on the floor, on the ceiling and on the walls. The spots were made from a variety of products. “You should get one,” he said with his back turned to the woman. He peered into a mirror and adjusted his hair for one last time. He was nearly set to leave for work.

  The woman lit a cigarette and turned on a late ‘80s boxy television set. The station was partially scrambled but a reality show of some sort could be seen on the television. Three scantily clad women with large breasts were fighting over something one of them had said in a previous episode. It had the makings of a modern day Shakespearian play.

  “These bitches are hilarious; Charlie baby, come watch dis show wif me, hunnie-kins,” pleaded the woman. “I’s would l-u-v it so much, I’s can blow you or I’ll let you take the old dirt road – you know – like old times sake?” She did her best to look seductive but ended up looking like a foot instead.