Hector’s Conjecture and the Singularity | Chapter Four

Chapter the Fourth

Concerning Hector’s journey to the forest and his subsequent flight from the academy.

When Hector found himself standing in formation, ready to begin his fifth day of classes, he was so perturbed by the actions of the generals from the previous day that little could surprise him. General Mateo was present, but General Javier was conspicuously absent, which Hector found particularly strange.

They were told to prepare; today would begin the excursion with the “Boy Scouts” to make them “stronger.” The generals explained that the expedition would last until the following night, after which they would return to their dormitories with their newfound lessons—sure of themselves, as the ideal soldiers the commanders boasted of creating.

Before leaving, they were given a brief period to pack. They were reminded that cell phones and electronic devices would be utterly useless, as there was no signal or network connection in the woods. This mattered little to Hector, as his phone had been confiscated indefinitely after his outburst at General Javier.

While mobilizing, Hector realized he couldn’t carry much. He decided to take only two items besides his makeshift metal garment. Rummaging through his things, he recalled his electrical trinkets: mid-grade batteries and components. He debated between transistors or a motor to generate electricity. Knowing he would need power and a way to remain connected to the outside world, he chose a lead-acid battery and a relatively small radio. He thought that if he could find a resistor, he might rewire the radio to the battery, but he decided against the hassle for now. He returned to the group with the radio and the battery in his hands, having no idea where to store them.

They gathered their belongings—Hector clutching his failed, miserable attempt at an improvised breastplate—and boarded an enormous bus, reminiscent of those used for elementary school field trips.

As he was about to board, General Mateo noticed his items. The General was busy checking strange messages or photographs on his phone, but he did not fail to intercept him.

“Hector! Stop right there!”

“What is it, Sir, General?”

“Don’t play the fool, boy. Why are you carrying that trash in your hands?”

“Why ‘trash,’ Sir, General? These artifacts are particularly useful. Think of it: one is already dependent on communication and electricity. That is why I carry this battery and this radio.”

“You’d better not have skipped class for that junk.”

Hector felt deeply insulted. How did this idiot, devoid of scientific knowledge, dare to judge his engineering intentions? He could not imagine himself doing anything unrelated to invention and philosophy. He was already pondering the consequences this “criminal villain” would face for being an accomplice to Javier’s indecent acts.

Hector was not about to stay silent; he had already engineered a way to dismantle the General’s argument.

“You called it junk? Filthy are your actions—the disgusting, indecent, and miserable things you did yesterday, Thursday! You’d better go join General Javier before he finds another man! Sir, General.”

General Mateo was left speechless. Never in his short career had a mere low-ranking cadet dared to speak to him that way. Though he knew Hector spoke the truth—his relationship with Javier was becoming more notorious by the day—Mateo did not want to disappoint the man he admired so much. He chose silence, fearing that if he spoke, he would expose himself further to rumors. He ignored Hector’s poorly made breastplate and electronics, letting him pass.

As the bus traveled toward the forest, the landscape turned flat, dominated by the grasslands and blue skies characteristic of Guanajuato. Hector reflected on his life, on mathematics, and on the natural sciences. He loved them for their precision, for the way they explained the phenomena of the world. But his mind kept drifting back to the fate of the cadet who had deserted early on.

In Hector’s mind, there was a clear distinction between the “miserable” and the “suffering.” To him, the suffering were those who experienced a genuine dysfunction of mind and body due to trauma. The miserable, however, were the pathetic, the vulgar, and the wicked—those who protected their own “power” while cruelly assaulting their environment.

He remembered his imaginary characters: Hector the distorted figure and his army of automatons. He felt as if he were there with them, battling imaginary enemies. His concentration was broken only by the discomfort of his breastplate. It lacked the essential rivets to hold the pauldrons or provide flexibility, but he told himself he would resolve that eventually.

Curious about his peers, he began a conversation with the cadet next to him.

“Hey, comrade,” Hector said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not interested in whether you’re here by choice, but I want to know if you plan on doing anything in particular.”

“Huh? No… unless you want…” The cadet leaned in to whisper. “Do you want mezcal? Or beer, tequila, vodka?”

“Tell me,” Hector said with irony, “do you have ethyl alcohol as well?”

“Yeah, but we’re using that for the cocktail we’re making tonight.”

“How did you get these past the guards?”

“We bribed the watchmen and the general so they’d let the beer through.”

Hector was unimpressed. When he declined, explaining that he only drank water and natural juices, the cadet turned aggressive.

“Then screw you, ‘way.’ If you snitch to the Boy Scouts, we’ll kick your ass.”

“I’ve made it clear I’m not interested in your addictions,” Hector replied. “I was merely attempting casual conversation.”

“Don’t act tough, ‘princesito.’ You talk like a private school girl. Talk like a man, ‘way.’”

“A man, you say?” Hector countered. “And it seems ‘way’ is the only word you know. You have a shrill voice like a braying donkey. You aren’t even five feet tall. You’re so miserable you have to boast about yourself to get attention, because if you spoke the truth, no one would care.”

Enraged, the other cadet slapped Hector’s radio and battery out of his hands. Hector calmly picked them up and moved to another seat, tuning the radio to a low volume. He checked his wallet: not a single peso. He had left his money on his bed. If he escaped now, he would be surviving on raw instinct and memory, much like the early humans he had read about in scientific texts.

Later, General Mateo approached him. He had been listening to Hector murmur reflections on war.

“Cadet, I require your presence here with me.”

“Certainly, Sir, General!” Hector shouted, drawing curious looks from the other passengers.

Mateo led him to the back of the bus.

“Cadet Hector, I see you are very creative. You would make a fine engineer. I’ve noted your skills in math and science.”

“I appreciate that, Sir, General! Those are my favorite subjects.”

“But your lack of respect is also great. You will receive an additional punishment for your behavior toward General Javier.”

“Why!?”

“For your continuous disrespect. And you forgot to say ‘Sir, General.’”

“Fine. I’m sorry, Sir, General.”

“I want you to attend a special program for your mathematical skills,” Mateo continued. “It will help you in the future and help you perfect your English. I want you to be a chingón—a success.”

Hector was offended. To him, this sounded like an invitation to let society consume him, to work twelve hours a day for a corporation until he had no time left for his inventions. He feigned agreement, but in his mind, he was closer to choosing a “scientific suicide” over such a fate.

They arrived at the next municipality and were greeted by the Boy Scouts—well-uniformed and smiling. Hector realized he had left his radio and battery on the bus. As he turned back to retrieve them, he saw a group of six cadets—the ones from earlier—approaching him dangerously.

Hector didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his electronics and ran. He blended into the crowd of nearly 150 people. In the confusion, Hector suffered one of his “blocks”—a dissociation where he disconnected from the world and became trapped in erratic thoughts. He found a spot on the grass and lay down for several minutes until his breathing stabilized.

When he regained his focus, he saw a scout, roughly seventeen to twenty years old, approaching him.

“Hey, friend, what are you doing?”

“Nothing particularly interesting, Scout. Just thinking.”

“Our official name is ‘Boy Scouts,’ but yeah, we’re explorers. Do you need help with anything?”

“Tell me,” Hector asked, “have you a fire yet?”

“A… what?”

“In simpler terms: Have you made a campfire?”

“Oh! Not yet, we’ll teach you that tonight. Do you want to learn to play cards with us later?”

“Heh, no. Not at all,” Hector affirmed.

“Why not? It’ll be fun.”

“I… I don’t know how to play.”

“That doesn’t matter! We’ll teach you. My name is Adrian, come on!”

Hector felt an immediate need to retreat. Adrian’s friendliness made him uncomfortable. He resorted to his usual defense:

“Are you calling me an idiot!? How dare you! Wretch, imbecile, villain, liar! Get away from me!”

Adrian backed away, looking disheartened. “Sorry… I just wanted to include you. Don’t forget, we start the fires at eight by the big cabin.”

Hector sat in angry silence, resenting those who weren’t as “intelligent” as he was. He watched as some scouts practiced with air rifles. He approached one, who told him they used plastic pellets for target practice. Hector nodded and prepared for his next move…

…"

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