Beast Machine Page 3
Gora began to look sternly at the vials as Hitbear was sternly looking at the maps after his brief respite.
“Got it!” Gora shouted. “Einstein, a man with incredible intelligence, hair and understanding, will be meshed with the symbol of wisdom – the owl! Albert Owlstein!” Gora let out the sounds of an owl: hoot, hoot, hoot. She flapped her arms idiotically.
Hoot. Hoot. Hoot. She kept flapping her arms.
“Cliché,” mentioned Hitbear, “and an idiotic pun.” He snorted loudly and spit on the ground.
“Oh, shut up,” glared Gora as she stopped flapping her arms. She crossed them instead. “Just don’t eat him you furry monster.”
She grabbed the vial with a small barn owl inside and a new vial of the purple, glistening liquid that removes the animal from stasis. She opened the beast machine, poured the liquid on the small barn owl, and turned the oven dial to ‘1 Day.’
Gora closed the door of the Beast Machine and inserted a picture of Albert Einstein in a slit on the side of the machine. It was, unbelievably, another real picture of the scientist. Before sliding the picture into the Beast Machine, Gora contemplated Einstein’s physical attributes. Einstein wasn’t a particularly attractive man nor was he an ugly man. “Just unique looking,” thought Gora.
Gora slammed her fist down on the yellow button that began the entire process of combining an animal body with a human mind. Now all that had to be done was to wait. She clapped with glee and then stopped mid-clap when she was interrupted by Hitbear.
“How long did I ‘cook’ for?” asked Hitbear, now focused on the Beast Machine process. It appeared relatively simple to him. Place an animal into triangular opening, slide a picture into the small slot, input biographical information, and let it cook for hour. Aside from actually building the machine, it was easier than invading Poland.
“About 10 hours, I think,” replied Gora as she was cleaning up the now empty vials. She tossed the useless vials into the corner of her lab with other useless scientific runoff and trash. A trash monster surely lived in that mess of a corner, as the stench became unbearably organic. There wasn’t time to actively clean the laboratory when there was revenge to be had, so Gora didn’t even think about cleaning up the rank mess.
“Why does he get to ‘cook’ for an entire day? Is that going to affect him in any way that he will be useless to us – to the cause?” Hitbear figured this was a perfectly legitimate question.
“No, no, no. Genius just takes longer to create than a simple bear.” Gora laughed and winked at Hitbear.
It apparently wasn’t funny to the massive fur ball. He scowled aggressively at Gora from afar.
Hitbear charged Gora and wrapped his right paw around her throat. He growled fiercely at her, showing his sharp teeth. “Do I look simple now?” spat Hitbear. His saliva drenched the small brunette woman that brought him to life. It dripped down her head, now covering her entire face – except her eyes.
Gora, unaffected by the saliva mask, kneed the giant Hitbear in the stomach and sliced off his right paw with her unusually sharp knife that was stashed in her left pants pocket. Gora was effortless in cutting off the bear’s paw. She wiped the bear spit off her face with the sleeve of her shirt.
“WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?! IT HURTS, IT HURTS!” cried Hitbear as he fell to the ground. THUD! Blood leaked from Hitbear’s wrist and created a sizable puddle in mere seconds.
“Never – NEVER touch me again, you filthy fucking animal,” replied Gora standing over the writhing Hitbear. Her knife rested on his nose. The blade was four inches long and made out of obsidian, but the sharp part of the blade was a bright green and pulsing. It was pulsing as rapidly as Hitbear’s heart.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry – please, please. Just h-h-help me. Stop this pain and I will fall in line. Please, please! Please, creator!” Tears of agony spewed out of Hitbear’s eyes like geysers, mixing with the puddle of blood. “I’ll be a good soldier, I’ll be a good soldier, I’ll be a good soldier,” pleaded Hitbear. Gora removed her knife from his nose and placed it back in her pocket.
Gora tossed gauze, peroxide and other medical supplies at Hitbear. “Fix yourself up. If you stay loyal, and do not touch me, I will help you grow back your paw – or give you an attachment of sorts. You have to earn it.” Gora leaned close to Hitbear, “I am not afraid to end you.”
Hitbear shuddered frantically. Gora struck fear into him like no one ever had before – the Russians, the Americans, the renegades under his command were cupcakes compared to her. She wasn’t a large creature, but her voice, her demeanor, her insanity made her quite intimidating, even to a brown bear mixed with a humanoid capable of genocide. She was daunting.
“Thank you, thank you!” Hitbear stitched himself up slowly and painfully over the course of the next few hours. He knew he had overstepped his boundary and was to toe the line; otherwise his existence would be extinguished, once again.
Gora sat meditatively in a small chair during the next twenty four hours staring at her kiln of creation. She was not going to miss this ‘birth’ with a lengthy nap like she did with Hitbear. She would not let Owlstein become argumentative and violent; even though she knew deep down that it was Hitbear’s animalistic side that wanted to rip her limb from limb more so than the human side. Or at least she hoped.
Nonetheless, Gora began to hash out her plans quietly in her mind. She knew that once Hitbear and Owlstein are found out, that they may be terminated or used against her. She needed to find a way to prevent that, or prevent either from revealing any secrets about the Beast Machine. She hated her constant worriment about things that may never happen. “I’ll never let them be used by others,” she thought. “Never.”
Ding.
Ding.
Diiiiiiiiiing.
It was complete. The moment of Owlstein’s birth was upon them.
“Hitbear, wake up.”
Rolling over slowly, Hitbear yawned, “What? Is that cliché done baking or what?” He rubbed his eyes and picked at his ears. His drowsiness made him forget to cool it on the smarminess.
“Yes. And he should be greeting us any moment. Come close, child. Witness this with me,” said Gora in a motherly tone. She had mostly forgiven Hitbear for his rash choice to grab her by the throat, albeit not verbally. It was not in her to become hateful of something she loved, regardless of what transpired.
Hitbear lumbered over to Gora and plopped down on his furry rear-end, while Gora remained in her chair. He rubbed his stump arm wrapped in gauze with a grimace running across his face. In this moment, he wanted his paw back more than anything he had wanted throughout either life. More than his human existence. More than Poland. More than England. More than all of Russia.
The door to the Beast Machine slowly began to open and a small amount of smoke was released. “Did smoke appear when you were created?” asked Gora. “No, I don’t think so,” replied Hitbear. The fluttering of wings could be heard and the fog began to dissipate. Gora and Hitbear rose to their feet, waiting anxiously. Gora clutched Hitbear’s left paw tightly.
An unusually large barn owl emerged with a shit-eating-grin on its face. It fluttered over to the pair still clutching hands waiting for the barn owl genius to speak, if it could. The owl cocked its head to the right, examining the bear and woman.
The owl clicked his beak several times before speaking.
Tick, clack, tick, clack, tick, clack.
“Hallo! I am Owlbert Einstein! Hehe!”
“Owlbert?” scoffed Gora.
“Ja?” smiled Owlbert.
“Don’t you mean Albert Owlstein?” questioned Gora.
“Nein, my dear; Owlstein detracts too much from mein original existence.”
Gora examined the roughly three foot tall Owlbert Einstein. He was massive for a barn owl and owl in general. She gingerly gripped each of his wings and looked close. She plucked a feather from her newest creation.
“That hurts!” barked Owlbert playfully.
Hitbear looked away, mildly hurt, and sat down near the map collection – he was determined to prove his brilliance over Owlbert. He would show Gora that strategy trumps science.
“I’m so glad you decided your name and did not let me decide it for you! Shows your independence and brilliance!” said Gora. Hitbear, too, had decided his own name, yet Gora neglected to heap praise upon his brilliance. The lumbering bear was genuinely hurt by Gora’s intrigue in Owlbert over him, the great strategist!
“Oh, bitte jungen kind. I am merely your servant since this ist mein second chance at life und clearly du brought me here for ein reason, nein?” questioned Owlbert. “Vhy vould I be brought back to life – in ein sense – if I vere not to serve du in some vay?”
Tick, clack, tick, clack, tick, clack.
During the creation process, a small amount of data is uploaded into the minds of the beasts. This data included information on new cultural trends, inventions that have helped mankind progress along into the modern era and important dates in human history. A small message concerning loyalty to Gora was relayed to them several times before they were allowed out of the Beast Machine. It was brainwashing, but a brainwashing that Gora wanted of her beasts. Gora didn’t expect the uploaded data to help them adjust as well as this. She thought there would be hand holding at their beginning of their existences. Hitbear had caused her trouble already, however.
Gora looked down at her feet. She had to tell him.
“I need you, Owlbert, and Hitbear to –“
“Hitbear? He really went with that name?!” laughed Owlbert in an annoyingly loud way in an attempt to ruffle Hitbear’s feathers. “Vas he do? Just hit peoples?”
Hitbear did not hear the laughter as he was fully involved into his strategy to help Gora defeat her tormentors. He was mostly doing it for himself, though, as he wanted to return to the greatness – as he put it in his own mind – of his past life.
“Yes, he chose Hitbear.” Gora’s eyes went cross-eyed momentarily at Owlbert’s reprisal of Hitbear’s name. She quite liked the name Hitbear. “Anyhow, the reason you and Hitbear are here is that you both were alive during the most trying times of humanity.” She walked closer to Owlbert. “Sure, Hitbear was a large reason why those times were difficult, but shouldn’t we hold our friends close and our enemies closer?”
Owlbert blinked slowly several times. He clicked his beak several times again.
Tick, clack, tick, clack, tick, clack.
Gora stared at Owlbert realizing he may not have fully understood what she meant. “He helped kill millions of people – it was fucking disgusting what he did, and what he tried to do to even more people, but we need a monster to help defeat greater monsters that have risen up – monsters that have tormented me, and monsters that have the ability to torment ninety percent of civilization! – if they wanted to at least. I am not happy I resorted to resurrecting one of the most notorious human beings of all time, but I will be damned if I don’t make him useful and make him be an agent of good this time around.”
Owlbert cheeped, “A vise girl indeed! I vill do anything that ist necessary to help du – even to vork vith the vicious beast that pores over your maps. Eh, vat else do I have to do in this world, frau, uh?” Owlbert laughed uncomfortably.
“Gora; call me Gora.”
“I am yours, Frau Gora,” smiled Owlbert.
Hitbear coughed in the distance and rubbed his stub arm. Victory was the only thing on his mind.
Chapter 5
Why Us?
It had been a quiet few days for the beasts and their creator, Gora. Tensions were still being worked out amongst the two creatures being brought into the world, but they dropped most of their animosity that may have had during their past lives toward one another. Albeit, they were still trying to sort out their past lives and the extra information Gora had forcefully pumped into them.
Little fights occasionally broke out.
“You fucking gypsy bird – a militaristic strategy will do us better than some scientific experiment that will take up more time and probably won’t work!” Hitbear snarled loudly at Owlbert. “Strategy over science, strategy over science, strategy over science,” thought Hitbear. “We need something for the HERE and NOW! Make haste, bird!”
“Du misunderstands zee importance of science, bear!” said Owlbert with a precise tongue but strong accent. “Du are alive now because of science! Not some daft… some daft strategy!”
“I understand science – I even love it, I think - but I love military action more because it will help us win our missions now. Not later. Not after some bullshit science experimenting, all the science to create us has been completed already. E = MC-who-cares?” Hitbear mocked Owlbert by pretending to be a dainty bird flocking its feathers, which made him look more foolish than mockful of Owlbert.
The beasts growled at one another. An owl growling is a peculiar sound that is reminiscent of a fat man snoring.
Gora, her face in a book covering the topic of the aerodynamics of flightless birds titled Dodos, Ostriches, Penguins and Other Flightless Birds That Can Be Successful, finally decided to step between the two beast men and their petty argument.
“Boys, boys, boys – let’s cool it now, eh? You are both right and you are both wrong,” stated Gora calmly.
Owlbert and Hitbear stared at one another in confusion. “What could she mean that they were both right and wrong?” each thought.
“The reason I brought both of you back into existence is because you each have immeasurable strengths: Owlbert with science and Hitbear with military tactics. You’re not supposed to work against one another, but work together to form something truly stunning, magnificent and gnarly for us to put to use against my – erm – our enemies!”
“Pardon me, Gora,” said Hitbear, “but why did you not select one of America’s war generals? Like George Patton, Theodore Roosevelt, Omar Bradley, Robert E. Lee or the always venerable George Washington? There’s a litany of others to choose from in America’s young existence. You may draw deep ire if anyone finds out I am in your employ.”
“Ja, I must agree vith zee bear; vhy did du select us vhen there vere at least equal or better choices from America? I vorked vith so many American scientists during the – is it declassified yet, frau?” questioned Owlbert. Gora nodded. “I vorked vith countless talented American scientists during zee Manhattan Project! Vhy not them, Gora?”
“Not to mention the incalculable military strategists through time from around the Earth!” said Hitbear. “Attila the Hun, Tamerlane, Napoleon Bonaparte, and Genghis Khan to name a few. I’d even toss in Joan of Arc since she was a remarkable inspiration, despite her being French.”
“Ja und Marie Curie, Nikolai Tesla, Thomas Edison, und Archimedes to name ein few scientists too!” said Owlbert quickly.
“Khan would have been the most apt choice over me, to be honest, and I’m pretty fucking good wi-,“ said Hitbear.
“Except that debacle in Russia,” quipped Owlbert. He giggled loudly.
“Shut up, turkey brains,” glared Hitbear. He swatted his paw toward Owlbert, but missed as Owlbert bounced away swiftly. “Tell us, Gora, why us? What makes us special to you?”
Gora did not want to express her feelings directly to the two historical figures, now mostly beast, the reasons she had them re-created. She knew there were better options for military strategy than Hitler, and no one would have blamed her if she selected Sir Isaac Newton over Albert Einstein, but she knew she chose them for a reason. She was pitiful with explaining these sorts of things – her emotions. Yet those emotions frequently strangled her mind.
“I selected you both, over your equals, because I know you two can get the job done with the proper resources and proper support,” Gora said.
She moved closer to both of them putting her hand on each. “Hitbear, aside from a mishap here and there, your military strategy was nearly perfect and you had to plan against multiple fronts! You were put in a high-pressure situation – mainly because of your cruel intentions, however – and you nearly succeeded. It’s incredible how far your – shameful, disgusting, inhumane – empire grew. That is beside the point, though.
“Patton and Bradley would have been excellent selections, but I knew they, even reincarnated, would not have wished to join me in exacting revenge on my tormentors. Do you think those generals would want to seek revenge against Americans? I think not.”
Gora tossed back her hair then put it into an unkempt bun. It had become grimy and matted from not taking a shower in over a week. Her body and mind were a mess and now she was in the middle of explaining why she decided to revive the existence of these two prominent historical figures. The beasts waited patiently for Gora to continue.
“I, also, can only insert legitimate photographs of humans into the Beast Machine, not drawings, painting, or the like – yet. The limitations of the Beast Machine are particular and purposeful. I imagine the only people that would be able to work this machine are in this lab right now, so if it did happen to fall into the wrong hands it would be a difficult endeavor to get to work. I have no reason to try to bring back a painting or drawing of a past human anyhow.”
Hitbear and Owlbert stood close to one another. Hitbear accidently bumped into Owlbert, causing the pair to sweetly apologize. Gora smiled at the pair.
“Believe it or not, I have admired your strengths – in no way am I proud that you exterminated millions of innocent people, Hitbear. Your existence will never be forgiven for that. May your soul rot in hellfire and be sent to the treacherous parts of the spirit world. But I can admire your mind during a terrible time in human history. Plus, it’s a little micro-experiment of mine to see if sentient beings are inherently good or inherently evil! What fun?!” She grinned tightly, only showing her top teeth. Hitbear returned her grin with his own odd grin.