Beast Machine

by Brad McKinniss

  “Well I guess I am saving your career then, Bridget.” Gora looked over at her passenger with a friendly smile.

  “Yes, yes you are, Gora. Yes you are.” Doctor Borehole did not return the smile.

  Bzzt, bzzzzzt said the radio speakers – still releasing only static. The silence mixed with the occasional bzzt made the drive and the conversation not seem real to Gora.

  Gora had always seen Doctor Borehole as a saboteur of proven science, as a boisterous denier of manmade climate change, and as a person that had an endless supply of energy to be used for obtaining gossip.

  But Doctor Borehole was silent and calm during the drive.

  Bzzt.

  Gora wanted to pry, a bit, since Doctor Borehole would be leaving her physical life in a few short hours. Maybe more depending on how quickly she suffocates under the cement.

  “So, uh,” asked Gora, “any new gossip or rumors you wanted to share?” Bzzzzzt. “I’ve been out of the loop for quite some time now.” Bzzzzzt. Gora apprehensively laughed, trying to seem charming as Doctor Borehole had only minutes ago described Gora. Gora didn’t catch the sarcasm dripping over the original charming comment.

  Doctor Borehole sighed and looked out her passenger side window. Bzzt. She touched the window dramatically with her right hand and turned around to face Gora.

  Gora turned to look at Doctor Borehole before returning her gaze to the road. Gora saw tears rolling down Doctor Borehole’s face. Voluminous tears. Bzzt.

  “Oh, dear,” said Gora worriedly. “Do you need me to pull over?” She kept looking at Doctor Borehole whenever she hit a stretch of carless highway.

  Doctor Borehole kept crying but motioned Gora to not stop.

  “Don’t start feeling sorry for this woman,” thought Gora. “She’s conned,” – bzzt – “hurt, and ridiculed you too many times in your past to feel sorry for her. She’s the devil incarnate.”

  Through tears, Doctor Borehole said, “My career is essentially over unless this proves to be true. I have been shamed for being anti-science, which is entirely true because I don’t believe any of this shit I’ve pushed onto the public. I push bullshit! No one is going to want to work with me within a year.” Bzzt.

  Gora listened closely to her passenger. The road was becoming treacherous so she needed her eyes on the road but wanted to focus on what Doctor Borehole said. Gora began to feel pity for Doctor Borehole despite what had happened between them.

  “I only initially did it for the money, and, believe me, the money was good and it still has been good.” Doctor Borehole laughed stiffly. She wiped her tears. “I’ve received large sums of money from petroleum moguls in Canada, from coal mines throughout the poorest American States, and from oil warlords in all parts of the world! Just to convince people that we’ve never been harming the environment so they could make more money.” She shook her head softly. “Not to mention the new barons of non-renewable resources: the natural gas fracking groups. All these companies couldn’t care less how much of the Earth they destroy. How many lives they ruin!

  “My endorsement meant their company could dump anything they wanted without much reprisal from the government, force wastewater into the Earth to find natural gas, and by not having to clean up oil spills in oceans! Aside from paltry fines here or there to ease the environmental yuppies, these companies got off scot free because of me.

  “These politicians wanted Americans, if not all the uneducated humans of the world, to believe that manmade climate change was a bunch of hooey; which of course it’s not hooey, it’s legitimate. Sadly, millions of – bzzt – Americans have been brainwashed by their supposed leaders and I am to blame as well.”

  “Oh, no, you’re –“, began Gora. She was quickly cut off.

  “Yes, I am, Gora. I absolutely am at fault as much as those corporations. That money I took, that filthy money, bought me that wonderful facility, a lavish home and a stupendous staff – though they are as delusional as the legitimate climate change deniers.” Bzzzzzt. Doctor Borehole had stopped crying and began to look straightforward emotionlessly like at the beginning of the drive. “I want to make things right, so I actually hope what you’re going to show me is false because I’m not sure how much longer I can continue this charade.”

  “Well,” breathed Gora slowly, “I hope things work out.”

  “Why am I feeling so sorry for her?” pondered Gora. “This woman caused a lot of emotional and mental anguish! She is one of the main reasons I can’t show my face at ASH meetings ever again! Her rumors about my non-existent sexual dalliances made me the lady scientist whore of the decade. She’s holding back science and my life! Why do I pity her?”

  Bzzt! Bzzzzt! Bzzzzzzzt!

  The radio’s static was ramping up and pilfering any silence left in the rental car. Gora felt a frontal headache coming along.

  “I should never have taken that initial job offer from that man with the syringe tattoo on his neck,” said Doctor Borehole over the bzzt-ing radio speakers. “That’s what got me into this mess…” She took a deep breath. “It was over two decades ago and I was a poor doctorate student drinking watered down tea in some hole-in-the-wall café.” Bzzt. Her gaze left the straightforward view that she held most of the drive and fell upon the middle of the dashboard. Doctor Borehole quickly, yet powerfully, smashed her fist on the dashboard (SLAM!), causing Gora to shriek and swerve the rental car into the next lane. The swift strike from Doctor Borehole ended the incessant bzzt-ing for good.

  Gora let out a loud, “Jesus Christ!” as she returned the car to the appropriate lane. Doctor Borehole returned to looking straightforward. Gora’s frontal headache dissipated.

  “As I was saying, I was a poor doctorate student drinking watered down tea in some hole-in-the-wall café in a scummy part of Columbus, Ohio. An older gentleman approached my table and sat down, which was not unusual for a woman of my caliber to be joined by a random man seeking my attention.” Gora shook her head in annoyance. “I instantly noticed he had one stunningly bleak eye and another eye was full of marvelous awe; his eyes were heterochromatic, meaning each eye held a different color, dear.” Gora shook her head in annoyance and bit down on her lip to suppress the urge to belittle Doctor Borehole’s vain personality.

  “He introduced himself simply by the name of Malthus and made sweet, generous comments about my beauty – all of which were true, I might add. He was intriguing to the young, beautiful me!” A smile crossed Doctor Borehole’s face. “My eyes had to have been glowing, ‘A man with only one name? He must be special like Cher! Not to mention how his strong and gentle eyes tell the story of his life!’ He must have known right there he had me exactly where he wanted me, as he was smiling the entire conversation, causing me to smile the entire time. It was enchanting.”

  Doctor Borehole adjusted her hair, pushing it behind both ears. “I remember I asked him, ‘So, what exactly do you want from me, Malthus? I’m not one to open up my legs easily.’ Though, I totally wanted him inside of me right then and there. Sadly, he was not in the café to score a lay with an attractive woman like myself.”

  Gora wondered where she was going with this diatribe of self-indulgence.

  “After asking him that question, he got right to the point. He came there to make me an offer, yes, but an offer of employment. An offer that would, as he put it, ‘Leave me set for life financially.’ I was interested immediately since I couldn’t find a suitable job for myself as a soon-to-be doctor of climatology. You see, climatology was not an equal-opportunity scientific field back then, and the only option for women interested in climate was to be a weathergirl at the local news station.” Doctor Borehole fingered her reddish birthmark on her cheek, the only mark on her body she was ashamed of it seemed.

  “I wasn’t going to be relegated to being a simpleton weathergirl, so I took up Malthus’ offer immediately. I regret it now, but at the time it was the only choice I had to have a career.”

  “What was it?” Gora asked. Albeit Gora
was tired of Doctor Borehole’s story, she began to become intrigued by this mysterious Malthus figure.

  “It was simple: I come up with believable studies refuting the idea that humans were the cause of Ozone depletion, among other pollution claims, and I get paid handsomely. I was to keep my mouth shut, too, about our meeting.” Gora fidgeted slightly, adjusting her posture. “It was an absurd idea at the time, of course, because there were few critics of manmade climate change, let alone climate change activists. So it was relatively easy to sway the public on the idea that the Earth was simply going through a natural phase and that there was nothing we could do to stop it. Malthus somehow knew that scientists would eventually catch the public up with what humans were doing to the environment. The general public is so gullible, though; I remember Malthus telling me that and not believing it at the time, but that Malthus with the wonderfully bleak eyes knew that the American public was full of ignoramuses.”

  “You’ve been suppressing the idea – the very real idea – of manmade climate change for over three decades? You should be ashamed of yourself!” Gora’s sympathy for Doctor Borehole’s situation began to wane. “You are one of the primary humans, no, one of the primary causes that have led to the extreme deterioration of this planet! Just look at the damn icecaps!”

  Doctor Borehole turned toward Gora and began talking with her hands, a typical action for Doctor Borehole when she was around a large gathering of people. Gora had seen Doctor Borehole talk with her hands many times when Doctor Borehole was ridiculing Gora on various subjects at ASH meetings or when presenting her anti-science crap in front of everyone.

  “I am ashamed, Gora! Don’t you see? I want to change all of this, all of this, but I can’t be neglectful toward the opportunity of finding a gargantuan natural source of carbon-dioxide. It could prove that Malthus was right all along! That the work I’ve been doing all these years has been more or less correct, even if my colleagues and I have cooked the books. Who knows, this source of carbon-dioxide could lead to a tremendous book deal and it would be sweet vindication for me and my colleagues. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Doctor Borehole’s brown eyes, still straight forward, gleamed at the thought of redeeming her career that had been based on lies and faulty government grants.

  Gora shook her head furiously and sped up the rental car. She wanted to reach their destination as soon as possible as Doctor Borehole was beginning to annoy Gora with each and every word.

  To Gora, all she heard from Doctor Borehole now was, “Blah blah blerg! Global blerg-blah beep blah, mush mush blah – carbon footprint – blah blah blah!” It just kept getting worse and worse, more and more irritating the more Doctor Borehole opened up her bore-hole. Gora wanted to kill her right there more than ever before.

  “Do it! Kill this phony right now!” thought Gora. “Yes! Just do it now. It’ll be much more satisfying. Oh, so much more satisfying! Who cares if I get all bloody like last time? It’ll be so wonderful to see her struggle! To see her breathe her last breath!”

  Then Gora pondered to herself, “Wait, calm down. Calm down! I can’t just kill her right here, you’ve already thought about this! I should let her talk and talk because then I lose any of the pity I briefly had for her. Just control your anger and wait to do it in the woods!”

  “Yes!” shouted Gora loudly, unknowingly interrupting Doctor Borehole. “Oh, sorry, Bridget, please continue!” Gora plastered a large, plastic smile on her face; she looked ridiculous, but Doctor Borehole paid no mind to Gora’s physical movements.

  “Yes, as I was saying,” continued Doctor Borehole, “there are plenty of natural causes behind the acidification of the oceans.” Doctor Borehole pulled her hair behind her ears once again. “Acidification is commonly known as the ‘evil twin brother’ of climate change, though I’m not supposed to even recognize climate change as a real thing. Anyhow, acidification is harming the oceans and killing off organisms much quicker than any manmade pollution!”

  “UH HUH, UH HUH!” shouted Gora encouragingly, still with the plastic smile on her face, while nodding her head up and down furiously. Normally a person would pick up on the sarcasm from Gora’s tone and her strange nodding, but Doctor Borehole just wanted to hear herself talk. “Could you explain acidification more!? I want to know soooo much more, Bridget!”

  “Love the enthusiasm, Gora!” Doctor Borehole reached out her left hand and touched Gora’s shoulder, all while keeping her eyes forward. “I love your enthusiasm so much that I’m not even upset that you haven’t been calling me doctor!”

  The women laughed, one a hysterically fake cackle and the other a genuine guffaw of happiness.

  “But acidification is a real thing, and much more damaging – in my professional opinion – in the short AND long term for humans than this silly climate change. Nearly one third of water creatures have died due to the ph of seawater dropping into ultra acidic levels. The levels aren’t acidic enough to affect us, or even larger organisms, yet but it kills medium to microscopic organisms, Gora! Kills them almost like that!” She snapped her fingers loudly twice snap-snap, causing Gora to swerve slightly.

  Gora quietly said under her breath, “Fucking psycho, Jesus Christ.”

  “I could delve more into it, but I can tell I’m boring you with the trivial details of the imminent collapse of our ocean’s sea creatures. You never cared much for other organisms, though.”

  “Um,” Gora paused.

  “I didn’t mean it to come out like that, lovely!” as Doctor Borehole tried to salvage her petty remark, “I just meant that your work never consisted of helping living creatures survive!”

  Gora, holding it together as best as she could, sighed and grimaced. She so dearly wanted to kill this inane, self-serving, ecosystem-destroying cunt, but didn’t want to be caught and lose her beasts. She had had enough of Doctor Borehole’s talking and didn’t want to make herself any angrier than she already had been during the drive.

  “We’re only twenty minutes away, let’s be quiet and take in the view,” Gora said politely. “Please.”

  Doctor Borehole nodded in agreement as the pair looked about the dusky sky.

  “I do have one more question,” said Gora.

  “Sure, what is it?”

  “How do you get your employees to keep quiet if they don’t believe in denying climate change?”

  Doctor Borehole smiled, “Oh, most of them do truly believe in this stuff, but I have them sign NDAs before beginning work at BIOME. None of them will open their mouths about anything! Even if I die.”

  Chapter 30

  Spilling Secrets

  McCarthy was still upset over being treated like an unruly subordinate, something he had not experienced since his teenage years at boot camp.

  “Boy, I hate this shit,” thought McCarthy. “Being yelled at, being told what to do – I’m the one that should be yelling at people, I’m the one that should be telling people what to do!”

  McCarthy couldn’t do much about his predicament though. If he reached out to The Flagship, he would be killed by Chairman Obelis or The Flagship. But if he stayed the course and gave Chairman Obelis all the necessary information, what would stop Chairman Obelis from killing him?

  There was seemingly no hope for him to ever get out of this situation alive. It appeared hopeless. He was going to die after being squeezed for all the information he held.

  Jeffrey had walked into the sunroom, where McCarthy had been sitting, contemplating.

  “Oh, didn’t realize anyone was in here,” said Jeffrey. “I can lea –”

  “No, stay,” replied McCarthy. He motioned for Jeffrey to sit. “I could use some company. Been a while since I’ve had a non-political conversation. Been a long while if you count the time lost in that damned box asleep. Sit, sit!”

  Jeffrey smiled at the old man and gingerly sat down on the loveseat, catty-cornered from McCarthy. Jeffrey held a royal-purple colored mug containing a light brown liquid. Coffee with an intense amount of cr
eamer and sugar.

  “It’s lovely in here, isn’t it?” asked Jeffrey just before sipping his milky spiked coffee.

  “I wouldn’t say lovely, but it is fucking delightful in here,” replied McCarthy. He stared blankly out one of the many windows that helped make the room effervescent. “I haven’t seen the sun much since I’ve been brought back into this world.” McCarthy thought the windows in the sunroom were peculiar. None of the windows were similar sized and each window was a various shape. Rectangular, square, oval and triangular windows were found on the walls. The entire ceiling was a Plexiglas window that let sunshine rain through, but forest debris currently covered most of it.

  The sunroom, which Jeffrey kept trying to get everyone to call the solarium, was a dainty all-white room filled with a white sofa, a white loveseat and three white sitting chairs with cushions. In the center of the sunroom laid the only non-white item in the room: a glass coffee table that was supported by the stump from an exceptionally large oak tree. Malachite and various minerals could be seen through the glass portion of the table into the stump. It was a marvelous looking piece.

  McCarthy had his socked feet atop the marvelous coffee table, making Jeffrey twitch slightly.

  Suppressing the urge to shove McCarthy’s feet off the coffee table, Jeffrey asked, “What would you like to talk about then, Senator McCarthy?”

  “Pussy, beer or sports,” said McCarthy quickly, wiggling his toes.

  “Ah, well,” said Jeffrey.

  “But you’re not really interested in those? I know,” said McCarthy cutting over Jeffrey’s reply. “I’ve known that you two are faggots.”

  Jeffrey wasn’t quite ready to come out to anyone other than Chairman Obelis, whom obviously already knew. Jeffrey, like Chairman Obelis, was an extremely private person. He only let personal details out when he deemed it necessary, or he trusted the person. “Well, no, we’re not fa-” said Jeffrey.

  McCarthy cut off Jeffrey again, “There’s nothing wrong with being faggots, though. I seriously have no problem with it. It’s your business about whatever you two stick up your rectums!” McCarthy giggled immaturely. “Seriously, it doesn’t matter to me. You two can do whatever the hell you want, whenever the hell you want.”