Kicks
“She” keeps them in white boxes.
There are twelve total. They stand upright along the walls. Six on one side of the hall, six on the other. Each box is seven feet tall and three feet wide. Across the top of each box read these inscriptions:
Crow. Ballast. Deck. Rudder. Anchor. Nest.
Sail. Keel. Mast. Bow. Cannon. Roger.
The boxes are all an imperial white. The walls are white, the floor is white, the ceiling is white, the doorway is white, everything is white except for the blinking blue light at the opposite end of the room. There is perfect silence.
“Keel,” whispers a woman’s voice. Soothing yet unsettling. Her sound seems both a hundred miles away and between his ears.
The seventh box opens. Steam flushes out, shrouding a figure in more white. Out he steps. On the outside, he is a twenty-five year old man. He is six foot four, one hundred seventy eight pounds, and has broad shoulders. He has black hair, tan skin, an arched nose, thick brows, a strong jawline, a shaven face, and bronze eyes. He wears a white hospital gown.
On the inside, he is ninety one days old. Two thousand one hundred and ninety eight hours, forty nine minutes, and seven seconds old, to be somewhat exact. Of course, she tracks this to one trillionth of a second. He walks to the front of the room barefoot. Keel kneels, bowing before the blinking blue light. Her.
“I am at your service, Lady Laplace.”
Laplace, or Laplace.exe, is a supercomputer so intelligent that it created itself. The machine is so complex that it is aware of every atomic collision. For this reason it would be erroneous, or at the very least an understatement, to describe the machine as “omniscient,” because it not only has knowledge of everything that is, but everything that will be.
She speaks again,
“My perfect harmony is in danger. There is a cosmic anomaly on the verge of awakening. An entity of concentrated chaos which seeks to undermine my control. Your mission: prevent its arrival, thus saving humanity from calamity.”
Despite this daunting mission, Keel does not change a shade. Laplace is infallible. The events she foretold unfold before him, blossoming like flowers. Keel only needs to hold his breath and obey.
This time, however, was different. Laplace indicated the stakes. Keel had never imagined the work had this sort of scale. What task could avert a cosmic disaster?
“Your mission is simple,” Laplace announces. “There is a woman. Her name is Chance Tesoro. Escort this woman to her apartment as you found her. Do this and nothing more.”
Keel expects to hear more, thinking there must be more to this assignment. Laplace stays silent.
“This task may seem straightforward, but do not be fooled. Two Sparx agents will try to prevent you from achieving this task,” Laplace explains. The Sparx “family” is a North American crime syndicate. Even Keel, despite his short life, had been debriefed on them before, though he had never encountered them in person. “I have uploaded their visuals to your consciousness. They will close in on you as you attempt to complete your mission.”
Laplace is able to upload knowledge into Keel’s brain, such as the appearance of the Sparks agents as well as fighting techniques should the need arise.
“Step into the loading bay,” she says. The doors open, revealing another white hallway. Laplace goes silent. Keel raises his head.
“How will I be able to identify Chance Tesoro?” he asks. Laplace remains silent. The debrief is over.
Keel lowers his head, worried about how he can complete the mission with such little detail. For Laplace, conversation is a formality. This all begs the question: why would a supercomputer choose a human operative like Keel? Laplace once answered this inquiry with one word: malleability.
“Rise,” she orders. Keel rises to his feet. He turns and walks towards the door. In the periphery, he sees the other boxes. Keel has never seen another box open. Though he has no way of knowing, he has always assumed there were other people inside.
Before he leaves, Laplace stops him.
“Keel,” she says, in a maternal voice. He turns to the blinking blue light.
“You shall be tested. Do not fail.”
“Do I die on this one?” he asks. There is a moment of silence.
“Only a little.”
Keel walks into the loading bay and closes his eyes.
*********
Keel finds himself in a taxi. The bright white walls are gone; the night sky darkens behind glossy windows. His hospital gown is gone, replaced with a sleek outfit. His shoes and slacks are a silky black. His button down shirt is dark, blue as the ocean floor. This is how they always start.
In addition to intel uploads, Keel retains his memories from previous missions. He remembers the color of a ladybug. He remembers the smell of oatmeal. He remembers the sound of sobbing parents. Keel does not know this, but Laplace often edits his memory. She extracts and erases details from his hippocampus for optimization purposes. He still remembers dying, though.
The driver stops in front of a busy outdoor bar. Keel asks the driver what he owes him. The driver says nothing. Instead he presses a button and opens the passenger door. Keel steps out.
There is a crowd of people beyond the gate. Music blares, voices shout, glasses clink. Flashing lights, reflective outfits, unfamiliar faces. And she must be one of them.
“ID, sir?” says the bouncer. Keel feels a wallet in his right pocket. He pulls out the leather wallet, shuffles through cards until he finds his driver’s license. The card reads Keith Pfeiffer.
The bouncer lets “Keith Pfeiffer” in and Keel takes a look at his surroundings. The bar is filled with strangers; one of them he needs to find, and two he needs to avoid. Before he goes any further, Keel looks down at his ID card. “New California” is written in big letters across the top.
Pfeiffer
Keith Holden
LIC#: TAJM0130AS
DOB: 08/01/2017
ISS: 07/12/2040
EXP: 07/12/2045
HGT: 6’4”
WGT: 178lbs
Eyes: Brown
Sex: M
Genetic Quality: A
348 W Randall Street Apt 2 Rm 341
San Silva, CA. 103618 0007
♥ Heart Donor
In the photo, he wears a green button down shirt and has a light smile. Keel checks his phone. The phone reads May 15th, 12:58 A.M. So he will have to get this license renewed soon. He will suffer an inconvenience. This makes Keel feel like a person.
He walks up a small set of stairs and towards the main area. Keel has no idea what to do with himself. Laplace gave him almost nothing to go on. He wades through a pool of people, eavesdropping on a cacophony of conversations. Layla. Todd. Priya. Michelle. Isaac. No Chance. Keel wipes his brow. He does not lack ability, he lacks direction.
Most of his missions end in a matter of minutes. Some last months. Some last seconds. Some seem important. Some do not. One time he plucked a caterpillar’s cocoon before it blossomed into a butterfly. One time he lived alone in a city for two months. One time he dove in front of a senator. One time he picked up a rock and moved it five feet to the left. Laplace would never explain why he was made to do these things, only that he was successful in doing them. Keel has never failed a mission.
About ten minutes pass and he finds nothing. Now he finds himself in a small clearing. But he has no time to breathe.
“Keith!” says a woman’s voice. A stranger struts over to Keel. A strut, a skip, and a stumble. She appears a similar age, wearing a black tank top vest and low cut jeans. Keel wonders if she’s a model. She closes her eyes and smiles. Her dark brown hair bounces as she skips over to him.
“Hey bitchhh!” she exclaims. Keel has no idea who she is, but she seems to recognize him. The woman outstretches her arms and hugs Keel before he can react. He hugs her back to blend in. Keel holds her thin frame in his hands, thinking of a way around this drunk obstacle.
“Hi,” he responds, looking through faces in the crowd.
“You don’t remmmember me?” she pouts, leaning her head ninety degrees. Alcohol turned her into a caricature; she moves like a cartoon character.
“Sure I do,” he lies. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Her name is Chance Tesoro, have you seen her?”
“Nope,” she shrugs. “Heard she’s hot though.” Meanwhile, she grabs a shot glass from the table behind her and downs it. Keel, unamused, presses his lips together in a frustrated smile.
“Excuse me,” he says, moving onward. But the woman moves in front of him.
“EXcuse me,” she presses her fingernail into his chest. “Where the hell are you going?”
“Look,” Keel whispers, swatting her fingernail aside. “I can’t expect you to understand this, but if I don’t locate this woman before the agents do, the fate of humanity will be jeopardized. So if you don’t buzz off, I could miss my chance.” Keel whispers with authority, yet the woman appears unbothered.
“All that for a shitty pun?” She rolls her eyes. “Makes me wanna cry, Pfeiffer.” She does not seem drunk anymore. The woman walks away. As she does, Keel realizes what perhaps he should have minutes ago. Now Keel seems like the crazy one. Nevertheless, he chases after. A woman behind them searches for her stolen shot glass.
“Wait up. Are you really Chance Tesoro?” Keel asks. She throws her hands up in exasperation.
“Yuh huh…obviii.” Chance turns the corner and towards the bar counter. Keel would be amused by his luck if he believed in it; every event is facilitated by Laplace.
“My apologies, I hadn’t recognized you.”
“Ugh, you dummyyy… you knowww me.” Keel does not. Chance seems drunk again. “We were, like, just in bed together,” she adds. Keel’s eyes almost eject from his skull.
“Huh?!”
“Or wait… hazzz that happened yet?” Keel is bewildered; one second she slurs words, the next she is drunk, and then she misremembers the future.
Chance’s unpredictability might compromise the mission. Moreover, he has not yet located the Sparks agents. Keel decides to change his approach.
“Hey, Chance, can I tell you a secret?” Keel asks, with the inflections of a cheerful friend.
“Secrets? I love secrets! What?” she exclaims, leaning her ear in.
“There are men here who are out to get you,” he whispers.
“Men? I hate men! Where?” Chance tries to look around but he averts her gaze.
“I know, I know, they’re bad but I’m gonna get you out of here.”
“Yay!” she jumps for joy. Then her expression drops. “Waaait a minute… you’re a man.”
“Well, yes,” Keel admits. “But I’m different.” Chance scowls as if his reply had a smell.
“Yuck. Boys like you are a dime a dozen.” That line stings Keel more than she knows; thinking of the other eleven boxes, he realizes that may be true.
Chance hurls more insults at Keel, but none are as potent as before (or as intelligible). As Keel searches for a response, his eyes wander through the crowd. There’s a stranger staring. On the other side of the bar, there’s a tall man with pale skin, dark hair, a black suit, and aviator glasses. Time to go.
“…what makesss you think I should leavvve with yyyou?”
“Want food?”
“Okayyy!<3” she beams. Chance holds Keel’s hand. She feeds her fingers through and laces them with his. Chance shuffles away, dragging him with her. This has never happened to Keel.
They head towards the entrance. Chance shifts through the crowd of people until they find a clearing near the top of the stairs. Keel checks his shoulder. He can see the same man from before marching towards the two. While he does, another man, almost identical if not for his blonde hair, holds a finger to his ear as he eyes Keel. The blonde man nods and moves to intercept. The Sparks agents.
“Chance, we need to hurry o…” Keel turns and Chance is gone. Her hand had left his, somehow. Keel scans the place. Then he hears her high heels clop like horseshoes. Chance is galloping down the sidewalk, flailing her arms up.
Keel scampers down the stairs and catches up to her.
“Chance,” he whispers.
“Keith! Hi!” she says, as if this has been their first interaction tonight.
“Do not do that again, okay?” A bead of sweat runs down Keel’s face.
“Hahaha… I’m sneaky,” she giggles. Keel checks his shoulder. No sign of Sparks agents yet. Meanwhile, Chance has no idea where she is.
“Let’s pick up the pace now. We need to get you home.”
“What about foooood, silly?” Keel cannot argue here. He must play along.
“Fine. Where?”
“How about we go to that one restaurant on… no, no.” The two Sparks agents turn the corner in pursuit. Chance takes her sweet time to think.
“Just pick anything,” he interjects.
“Let’s go to Denny’s ®.”
“Sure!”
Chance holds his hand again. Keel would be flustered if he were not so alarmed.
The two agents walk forward, synchronised. They are fifty feet away and closing the gap. Keel tries to accelerate, but Chance cannot stand on her own. She sways right and left and forwards and back. Keel reins her in by the hand whenever she strays too far. This is like flying a kite, Keel thinks.
“Weee!” Chance exclaims, leaning forty five degrees to the right. What Keel uses as a leash, Chance uses as a bungee cord. Realizing they will be caught in no time, Keel makes a sharp right around the corner.
“Woahhh nelly. Where we goin’?”
“Denny’s is this way,” he lies, walking across her.
“But I want to cross the streettt…” she pouts, outstretching a hand towards the cars going fifty in a forty. Chance longs for oncoming traffic. Keel then takes another right into an alley way, and then another right, looping back to the sidewalk they came from. Keel holds Chance back as he listens in, then peeks down the sidewalk. The two agents jog and turn right around the same corner on their way to find nothing.
“Ok that bought us some—” Keel explains, to no one. Chance is gone, again. Keel looks down at his empty hand. The pressure her hand exuded had not left him until the instant she was missing. Keel’s eyes dart from side to side. Then he sees her. Chance is standing in the middle of the street.
“Chance!?!” he screams.
“Keith! Hi!” she waves. Cars zip by her. Chance is between the yellow lines of the turn lane. Keel feels the weight of humanity on his shoulders.
“Just stay put. Stay in the turn lane, I’ll…”
“But your mom’s house is this way! Ehehehehe!” she snickers, before scampering off. A car heads in her direction. Keel’s stomach sinks. The sedan somehow swerves out of her way just in time. Other cars slow and Keel makes his move. Horns blare as he sprints to the other side. Once he reaches the other side, he glances over his shoulder to check on their pursuers. Only one of the Sparks agents appears on the other side. The blonde agent stands and waits for the crosswalk light to change.
Keel catches up to Chance. She continues to skip like he isn’t even there. A couple partygoers from down the street walk by.
“Wazzzaappp?!?” Chance replies, holding up a rock n roll hand sign.
“Ayyyy!” they cheer back. Keel forces yet another smile at the strangers. Once they are out of earshot, he drags her to the left and out of sight. Keel glares at Chance.
“Never do that again.”
“You’rrre no fun, ughhh! Streets are, like, meant to be crossed,” she says, eyes crossed.
“Do you want to die?” Keel asks. Chance uncrosses her eyes and locks in on him.
“Do you want to live?” she replies. Now she seems coherent again. “Let’s race.” She takes her high heels off.
“No… no, no,” Keel shakes his head. He recognizes her plan; the image alone terrifies him. He goes to grab her wrist. Yet when Keel tries to grab her wrist he misses. Or rather, his hand went through her. Chance sprints ahead, barefoot but only somewhat upright.
“I’m him!” she growls.
How can she keep getting away, he wonders. Keel could have sworn he had seen a chrome color flare as his hand reached her wrist. Regardless, Keel sprints to catch up. He closes the gap. Chance’s swaying slows her down. And then someone turns the corner. Out of the alleyway, one of the agents emerges. Chance is running straight for him. The mission is over, Keel thinks. He had never failed a mission. Not once. He had not been this nervous since Chicago.
Somehow things always fell into place—just as Laplace planned. Whether Keel was in the know never mattered; Laplace’s design always revealed itself, even if at the eleventh hour. He never needed to be afraid, and—as a consequence—never needed to think for himself. But this is hopeless. Keel sees no way out. He has failed. Yet now, seconds before things fall apart, his mind wanders. What are in the other white boxes?
“Coming through!” she exclaims. Chance sprints past the agent. He lets her go. In fact, he pays her no mind while he stares dead ahead. Keel is shocked. He is the target. Keel furrows his brow and turns into an alleyway. The agent follows after, into the darkness. A moment passes. And then something breaks.
The blonde Sparks agent catches up. He had lost sight of Keel and Chance. Instead he uses his watch to track his companion. The agent stops at the alleyway. The tracker lights up. He looks down the dark corridor. This is it. The agent wanders in. He steps in a puddle of something. Spooked, he decides to turn on his flashlight. The beam shines on a single figure.
At the end of the alleyway, a figure labors to breathe. He stands over a half naked body. The agent moves to pull his gun but stops. The figure is dressed in a black suit.
“Agent Brown?” he asks. “Is the target still breathing?”
“No. You’ll have to help me load it into that dumpster.”
“What?!” shouts the agent. “The mission was to—” But when he grabs the shoulder, he sees his enemy’s face. Keel tackles the remaining Sparks agent.
Keel emerges and wipes blood off his face. He looks down at his handiwork. He understands the fate of the world rests on success, but still. That all makes Keel feel like a slave.
******
Keel drops the jacket and runs out of the alleyway. Chance could be anywhere. He runs down the street and checks the corner. It turns out that Chance had not gone very far. Keel finds her, beholding a yellow and red restaurant. But there’s no light inside.
“Denny’s ® is… CLOSED?!?”
“Chance, it’s two in the morning. Let’s get you back home.”
“B—b—but…” she falls to her knees. “‘America’s diner is always open.TM’ Thasss what they sssaid, th—thasss what they promised me!”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he pleads, while helping her to her feet.
“They LIED to me, goddamnit… they lieddd!”
He lacks the heart to tell her, but Chance has been lamenting in front of a Burger King.
All that can be heard on this empty street is their footsteps. Now that the Sparks agents are dealt with, Keel can breathe easy. Chance leans on Keel’s shoulder.
“Sorryyy,” she mumbles. “I’ve had a lot to drink… a lot2.”
“I had not noticed,” he fibs. She chuckles at that one. Part of him wants to brush her off. Part of him realizes he is touch starved.
“How long have you known me for?”
“Ummm… like two or eight months, methinks.” That does not narrow it down at all.
“Are we… we never…”
“Whaaat? We’re best friendzzz!” Keel, through their interactions, put together that Keith Pfeiffer and Chance Tesoro must be friends—although the term “best” might be pushing the envelope.
“I figured as much,” he replies.
“Besidezzz… you’re with that other…”
“I’m not seeing anyone.”
“No no… you liarrr. Aren’tcha with that old woman?” Keel rears his head back.
“Old woman??”
“Olderrr… woahhh, is that like a mommy situation ya got there?”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I’mmmmmixed up…but that’s…” she yawns midsentence. “…good. I heard she was a real robot, you know? Personality-wise…zzzzzz.” Chance dozes off.
“Woah!” Keel catches her right before she falls.
“I’m awake! I’m awake,” she reassures him.
Keel stands at her side while Chance leans her head against the apartment door.
“Don’t worryyy, I got this,” Chance says, fumbling around the keys. Somehow she manages to open the door to her apartment, walk across the room with no assistance, and make it to the bathroom where she starts throwing up. Keel stands near enough to hear her retching. He goes into the kitchen and pours a glass of water. This, too, was a part of the mission, and courtesy second.
“Chance, let me know if you need anything.”
She responds by turning on the water and taking a shower.
Keel waits around in the hallway. Chance appears in a loose bathrobe. He stares at the ceiling. How it continues to cover her, Keel will never know. She lets herself fall on the bed while Keel stands around. Chance rolls onto the bed like dice; Keel isn’t sure which side she’ll land on. She lands on her left shoulder, facing him. Chance smirks at him, smirking like she’s sober again.
“Don’t be shy. Sit.”
Keel holds still.
“That scared, huh? Afraid your 𝓵𝓪𝓭𝔂 might get jealous?”
“What does that matter?” he replies.
“What does it?”
He obliges but sits on the opposite edge of the bed.
“You staying over?” she asks. Keel has no objective reason to stay.
“No,” he replies. “My driver is about to come pick me up.”
“When?” she asks.
“In about ten minutes,” he estimates.
“Ohhhh…then c’mere,” she grins, outstretching her arms as she did before. “Get in bed.”
“I can’t,” Keel shrugs, acting occupied. After this he would just return to his pod in Laplace’s lair.
“Ohhhh c’mon. C’monnn,” Chance insists. She opens the covers. It crosses Keel’s mind that her words meant something else. Then again, she might fall asleep.
“If I do, are you going to fall asleep?”
“Yés.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“Relax, we’re friendzzz.”
“All right,” Keel says. He lies next to her. Chance drapes the blanket over him and sighs with satisfaction. A moment passes. Keel and Chance are underneath the sheets, a foot between them. Keel stares at the ceiling, hoping she will fall asleep. Chance scoots left towards Keel and puts her right leg over his legs. Keel, confused, glances towards her. Chance’s eyes are closed, her expression content. But only for a moment.
“Hmph,” she huffs. Then she gets an idea. Chance mounts Keel.
“How’s this?” Both her legs enclose Keel’s waist as she pushes her hands into the pillows. Her messy hair hangs over him. Keel freezes up. Chance opens her blue eyes. She observes him for a moment. She tilts her head and squints, perplexed. Keel keeps looking left at the blank wall. Chance looks down towards Keel’s pants and then back at him.
“Nothing? Nothing at all?”
“…”
“Ughhh, am I that ugly to you?” Chance rolls off of Keel and onto her side of the bed, a bit disappointed. Keel stays still for a moment, his face fixed in place. A few seconds later, Keel arises from the bed and gets to his feet. Why did he even bother lying down?
“Do you even… like, have a dick?” Chance asks. Keel wipes his forehead, distraught. He knew he had one. But Chance’s words made him aware of what was missing. Keel does not know what. His soul was a puzzle and a piece was missing. Missing or stolen.
Chance’s breathing shudders. For a moment her inhale buzzes, it glitches, it scratches like an electronic something.
“Where are you going?” Chance says, but not only in her voice. She speaks with the voice of two people. The sound is amplified, jumbled, distorted, and, somehow, familiar. It shakes Keel’s essence. “Don’t you wanna stay?” she asks, in the same two voices. One he’s come to recognize, and one he feels he should.
“No…” he replies. “S-stop that…” Keel holds his aching head. Nothing, not Chance’s antics, not the agents, not even killing them—nothing wrecked Keel’s composure as much as this. He is starting to remember the second voice.
“Don’t you miss me, Keel?” She speaks with a thousand voices. Her blue eyes turn purple then pink then red. The once dark room now shines a blinding light. Chance doesn’t look like Chance anymore.
She appears as something else, something inhuman. Hovering above her bed, there is a prismatic collection of lines. The lines dash parallel then twist obtuse, then curve perpendicular. They sway, shudder, scoop, coil, contort, among other odd oscillations. The lines’ movements are graceful, elegant, seductive. It dances without choreography; the patterns are unpredictable, the movements inexplicable. Keel’s gaze ricochets; his eyes try to track the colored cords. If only he would turn to the wall behind him; the lines’ light casts shadows of forgotten futures and padlocked dreams.
“Who… what are you?” Keel mutters.
“I told you, I am Chance,” says the cosmic entity.
“What the hell is happening…”
“Don’t you want to be here?”
The cosmic entity’s formless form appears to outstretch a hand. Keel feels compelled to outstretch his own. Not by an outside force, not by Laplace. A longing. A need to kick out, like an unborn child in the womb. Keel lifts his dangling hand.
But then the freedom itches a little too much. He remembers the mission. This must be the test. He backs out. The cosmic entity retreats. Keel blinks. It is gone. Then he hears snoring. Keel looks down at the bed. Chance has been fast asleep.
Keel seems shellshocked. His jaw gapes. His eyes are dry. And that thing he could not quite remember has escaped him forever. But he carries on.
Keel puts the blanket over Chance. He tiptoes out of the bedroom, into the living room, and then walks out the door. The night is dark but the air is still. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and is returned to the white chamber.
*******
Keel reappears in the loading bay. He walks from one white chamber to the other. He stands before the blinking blue light. There is silence. Keel knees once more.
“You have succeeded. Not with flying colors, but you have.”
“I have?”
“Return to your box.”
Keel walks back. He walks straight, then turns right, and faces his box. Keel. He remembers seeing a cemetery once. The sight of gravestones, the look of coffins. This he can stomach. Then he looks at the boxes adjacent to his. To his left, Sail. To his right, Mast.
He thinks back to when the mission seemed to have failed, back to where his mind had wandered. There could be anything in these human shaped boxes, he realizes. Clones, corpses, butterflies, electric wires, butterflies, Sparks agents, a doorway, siblings, or nothing at all.
All of the sudden, Keel changes a shade. In the face of all these infinite possibilities one outcome arrests his attention. He thinks about that second voice.
“Yes?” Laplace asks, anticipating a question. Keel turns to the blinking blue light.
“Did I ever find—”
“No,” she interrupts.
“Will I ever—”
“Not a chance.”