Jeremiah Hawkins Laplace’s Angel There is no place like Laplace, the safest place on Earth! Come bask in the beauty of our rolling hills and sleek roads rollicking amidst marble and granite feats of architecture. Come find tranquility in the town like no other, a haven where you can take a serene sail along our restful river as it winds itself past our PGA envied golf course, our fifty-three Zen gardens, our Comeback Corner – an awe-inspiring, jaw dropping shopping district. And so much more! But most of all, come experience the freeness of safety provided by Laplace’s Angel, the technological phenomenon developed by the latest and greatest in quantum physics. Laplace’s Angel utilizes micro radar, advanced MRI and X-ray (filtered for safe use), as well as atomic and molecular tracking to predict well ahead of time dangerous and terrorizing events in order to prevent them. With their large, round eyes – able to see into the darkest of places – our angelic satellites are shaped like owls and can be seen on every light pole and in every public establishment. The data they record is transmitted to the Mega Quantum Computer located… Dave tossed the brochure back to Henry, sliding it along the smooth bar. It came to a stop against a rocks glass half filled with whiskey. Henry picked it up. “Did you see how much it costs to move here now?” asked Henry. “No, I didn’t make it that far,” Dave said, staring down at his cranberry juice, rotating the glass and wishing it were mixed with vodka. “Ten point three million dollars, my friend. Wow. It was less than a million when I came.” Henry took a sip and crunched on a cube of ice. “Did you see your bio? It’s gotten shorter.” “I didn’t see it,” said Dave with squinted eyes. “It says you’ve been here a year.” “Yeah, so?” “Well, it says you’ll be here for eleven more.” Henry tossed the brochure back to Dave. “What? Eleven?” Dave’s face contorted as he flipped to the bio section where one could be introduced to nine government officials and staff members via headshot and short blurb. Dave’s picture was last. “Gilbrithe thinks he’s already won the bet,” Dave said, shaking his head, referring to his shrewd boss who was overall in charge of the security of Laplace. “He’s toying with you,” said Henry. Dave didn’t respond but merely sat there with a focused, determined stare. Henry, a tall man of at least sixty years of age (and the most powerful man in the field of pharmaceuticals), peered at his drinking buddy’s disposition. “You want to try my newest? It’s probably my best yet. But it’s expensive and only available to Laplace citizens. I’ve got samples.” “What, the Chuckler? No thanks.” “Do you always have to nickname my pharmaceuticals?” Henry chuckled. “You’re a funny guy, Dave. Hey, you’re going to try again today, aren’t you?” “Shhh!” Dave mouthed. “It’s a rhetorical question,” Henry said. “The only days you don’t drink are days you try. Plus, you have that look, you know, the squinted eyes and absent mind.” Henry scratched his chin. “Yep, you’re going to try today. You’re on sixteen, right?” “What?” “You’ve been arrested sixteen times.” “Nineteen,” Dave said, trying to send his mind somewhere else. “Nineteen? Whoa. Only one more shot. One single, final attempt. Just one. Well, that explains the brochure. DERT is slipping away, my friend.” “Dammit, Henry!” said Dave in a sudden, unexpected outburst. “You’re trying to ruin this for me, I know it. You’re an evil man. Talk about something else, will you?” Dave looked up at the shiny, polished, stainless steel owl hanging from the ceiling in the corner beside a speaker, its large eyes covered in small LED lights of red, green and yellow. None of them blinked and Dave sighed in relief. The bartender, a large man with a disproportionately high-pitched voice, heard Dave’s outburst and strutted over. “Hey guys, whatcha…,” the bartender said before he stopped, his smile fading, staring at Dave who was staring at the owl. “Hey Dave, there’s nothing wrong with it, is there? “It’s working fine, Rick,” Dave said. “Whew, that’s good to hear,” Rick said, placing his chubby hand against the bar and leaning. “You wouldn’t believe how much money I lost the last time that thing went down. Now, don’t get me wrong”—Rick chuckled—“I’m really grateful you came and fixed it so quickly, but it took days before my customers returned. One lady told me she couldn’t feel safe. You wanna know why? Because she couldn’t be sure terrorists weren’t hiding in the stalls of the lady’s room!” “Rick, don’t worry yourself,” Henry said. “You’ve read the brochure. We have the best quantum engineer money can buy right here. Quantaco Industries only takes the best.” He patted Dave on the back. “Nope, nothing to worry about.” “Yeah, I saw that,” Rick said. “Hey Dave, your bio was shorter and different. I thought your contract was up in five years. Did you sign another one?” “Absolutely not,” Dave said, low browed, emphasizing every syllable. “I didn’t think so,” Rick said. “I mean, as much as you hate this place, I couldn’t imagine you signing on for more. Though, I have no idea why you hate it here. Everyone is so easy going and smiling all the time.” Rick smiled and then squealed, “It’s a happy place!” Dave shifted on his bar stool, attempting to shake off the chronic agitation. He took a deep breath and looked up at the owl to assure the LED dotted eyes were still unlit. “You want another cranberry juice, Dave?” Rick asked. “No, I’m fine.” “Okey-dokey,” said Rick with a high pitch chuckle. “Just yell if you need something.” Henry sipped from his glass, and then said, “Hey, I forgot to ask, how’s meditation working out for you?” “My ass hurts. I’ve meditated so much this past month, my ass is sore. Seriously.” With a chuckle Henry said, “Why don’t you sit on your bed or couch?” “The book said the floor, so I sit on the floor,” Dave said matter-of-factly, words creeping out in a concentrated monotone. “Well, other than that, is it working? You able to control your emotions better?” “Yeah, it’s working.” Henry paused, staring at Dave with a sly smile. “It’s his birthday today, you know.” “Whose?” “Oh, don’t give me that. Gilbrithe’s, of course. Everybody knows, and everybody’s going to be there.” “Oh yeah.” Dave squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating. “I’m playing golf at three, so the party is being pushed back a couple hours.” “Yeah, I heard. Huh, scheduling the party around your golf game.” Dave shook his head. “Why would they do that?” “Didn’t I tell you? I’m very rich.” “Walked right into that one,” Dave said. This was not the first time Henry had answered a question with, “Didn’t I tell you I’m rich?” “So, you going to the party?” Dave was about to answer when a single yellow LED on the left eye of the owl-shaped satellite blinked. Dave caught it in the corner of his eye. He stiffened. Damn, he said to himself. No, no, no… Okay, breathe, clear your mind, relax. Just then a table behind him suddenly roared into machine gun bursts of obnoxious chuckling. Electric shock raced through Dave and his eyes shot open. He squeezed his glass of cranberry juice and gritted his teeth. Two yellow LED’s on the owl blinked, one on each eye. Dave stood up and said to Henry, “I gotta get out of here. Tell Rick I’ll get him tomorrow.” ------------- After leaving the pub, Dave walked down the polished hardwood sidewalk tracing alongside marble and granite shops. He meditatively paced his breathing as he filtered through Laplace pedestrians—an extremely fashionable populace, to say the least. All were designed by designer labels, all trimmed to the newest fads (setting the newest fads!), all sculpted to plastic perfection by plastic surgery, botox’d so tightly they’ve lost circulation to their brains. All chuckling. And, of course, all terribly irritating to no fluff Dave. In the pub, Henry had read Dave’s body language correctly; his final attempt to win the wager was in fact on the agenda, and Dave felt more pressure this time than all the times before. He had invested so much time, planning, work and meditation into this attempt. He constructed a primary plan, a contingency plan, and a contingency plan B. He couldn’t fail this time or he would be doomed to sign another contract for another six years (on top of his current six year contract) in the Quantaco Industries post of Laplace, the fakest place on Earth. No, he absolutely could not fail. He had to win. Winning earned him an immediate (immediate within reason, of course) transfer to Dixon Environmental Research Terminal—DERT for short—a Quantaco Industries post that proved terribly difficult for quantum engineers to get into. The few positions available were usually filled internally; meaning, an engineer transferred in from some other post. And thus, the reason for Dave’s utterly miserable presence in Laplace. ------------ Marching across a small arching bridge, over the Restful River, Dave decided to stop at one of the fifty-three Zen gardens to meditate. This particular garden was squeezed between two shops, once probably a shop itself before the front walls were knocked out. The walls were painted with a Garden of Eden theme; leaf covered Adam and Eve held hands on the back wall and a serpent, winding through overhead branches on the ceiling, smiled at the metallic owl in the corner. The ground was padded with velvety artificial turf—no chiggers or prickly stickers to cause discomfort. Dave sat down to meditate beneath a Styrofoam tree. Seated with his feet atop his knees, a painful position for him, his thoughts drifted to the ‘distraction’ that brought him to this garden beside this splinter-free tree. A single passionate distraction, one almost as effective as drinking, that enabled Dave to make it through his first year in plastic-laden Laplace. Now, Dave believed from the beginning that the principle of Laplace’s Angel was flawed. And he yearned to prove it. This foundational principle, to put it technically, stated that an unbroken chain of events (past and present) determines the future, making it predictable. Thus, rendering free will an illusion. And, as with so many other things in Dave’s no fluff mathematical existence, this claim irritated him to no end. And so, like Newton locked away in his room utterly enchanted with exploring the universe, Dave distracted himself with philosophizing over Laplace’s Angel. However, he never dreamed it could possibly get him into DERT sooner. One day while eating an apple beneath a thermoplastic tree near work, he discovered the heavily sought after fallacy. Excitement flared up within him. He told Henry first, who simply snickered at him. He told Rick next, but after a long expressive explication, Rick’s only response was, “Dave, my friend, you slurred twenty-seven times during all that. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to cut you off.” Gilbrithe, his shrewd boss, was the only one who appeared interested. He actually listened and tried to understand Dave. However, he didn’t agree with him. And so a longstanding philosophical debate sprouted, a display of no fluff quintessential manly stubbornness and pride. Dave loved it. “I tell you what,” Gilbrithe said, sitting in his office across from Dave, reddened by what could have been the twentieth casual round of debate spread out over a month’s time, “let’s end this, now. I want you to prove it.” “I have!” Dave exclaimed. “No, not just in theory.” Gilbrithe leaned forward. “Beat the machine. And you know what? If you can do that, I’ll give you your transfer.” Dave’s eyes widened. “What, you’ll, what? Yeah, sure, okay. Um—” “But you can’t tamper with it. In fact, if there’s anything wrong with the machine—and I’ll have in-depth diagnostics performed on it—you lose. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir.” “I’ll give you twenty attempts, each marked by an arrest. By the twentieth arrest, you lose. “ “What do I lose?” Gilbrithe smiled. “You must stay here for another six years after your current contract is up.” Dave paused. “You’re on.” --------- A dog yapped from the sidewalk as Dave sat peacefully beneath his tree in the Garden of Eden searching for a pinch of enlightenment. Without opening his eyes he knew by the sound that it was one of those silly, shaved, stick figure, cotton shish-kabob poodles. They were everywhere in Laplace and Dave hated those things. He slowly opened his eyes, peacefulness still intact despite the big poodle. He stood up and trekked out of the garden and onto the sidewalk. It’s time, Dave thought. He proceeded to follow the lady and her big poodle down the polished hardwood sidewalk. He focused intently on the animal. He forced himself to love the dog and yearn to pet it, for he needed the owl to pick up on his amiable intention and not his deeper, truer intention. If he could build the actual emotion of affection, he figured the owl would sense that and nothing else. He imagined the big poodle saving a child from a burning building; he imagined it walking on its hind legs and doing flips; he imagined it retrieving a beer for its master. He truly felt like petting it now. Just then the nearest owl flashed a couple red LED’s. “Damn,” he mumbled. Dave suddenly glanced down and spotted a stone and proceeded to run at it, his eyes focused. Reaching the stone, he kicked it, causing it to scurry towards the dog. It struck the dog’s back right paw. A screeching sound emanated from the big poodle like a siren—“Arrr! Arrr!” —as it jumped into the air. The gray-haired female owner, decked out in sparkly apparel, turned and yelled, “Oh dear me! Cynthia-sue, are you all right!” The woman looked up at Dave who said he was sorry and presented her with a slight bow. At first she scowled at Dave as if about to breathe fatal elitist fire on him. But then her face surprisingly relaxed, and a whimsical smile formed. She chuckled and went on her way. Then, in Dave’s peripheral vision, he noticed red rapidly flashing lights. It was a nearby owl with its own fiery scowl bearing down on Dave. But this scowl, he knew, would not fade into a chuckle. And so Dave merely folded his arms, leaned back against the marble building, and waited. Within seconds a Safety Officer—a man in black shorts and a bright red short-sleeved, button-up shirt—raced out of a shop two doors down from where Dave leaned, studying a rectangular hand-held device called a mobile monitor. Dave knew this device was leading the Safety Officer to him. Upon reaching Dave, the officer placed his hand on his shoulder and said, “All right, Dave, you know the drill. Let’s go.” “Yes, I do,” Dave said and allowed himself to be escorted to jail for the twentieth time. ----------- A guard guided Dave into a room with which he was all too familiar, a room with a sign above the entrance that read, “Tank for Minor Imminent Offenses.” Once Dave was in the room, the door mechanically slid shut from both ends like a lightweight, speedier elevator door. He grabbed Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground from the bookcase, happy to see that his bookmark (a wrinkled, thinning piece of paper with his own no fluff poem titled Wrestling with Gods scrawled on it) remained in place. He then proceeded to his favorite reclining chair situated directly below a Kandinsky original. There were three other inmates in the tank with Dave, two adolescents and one older gentleman. “How are ya?” the older gentlemen asked Dave. “Good, actually,” “I’m Charles. That’s Johnny over there, and the napping one over there on the sofa”—he chuckled—“is Chuck.” “I’m Dave.” “You know why you’re here?” asked Johnny, a boy of about eighteen with spiked hair wearing mascara and eyeliner. Before Dave had a chance to answer, Charles said, “He hasn’t been to see the Clarifier, yet, Johnny.” “I kicked a rock and hit a big poodle,” said Dave with mathematical precision. “What, did the guard who arrested you tell you were going to do that?” Johnny asked. “You can’t trust those jackasses. They usually don’t know why they’re arresting someone, and even if they do, they won’t tell you. They’re just puppets to those stupid boxes in their hands.” “No,” Dave shook his head, “I know for a fact that’s why I’m here.” “So, you’re on the wrong block.” Charles leaned forward. “If you knew that’s what you were going to do, you should be in the Tank for Premeditated Offenses sitting on recycled chairs.” “It was premeditated, yes, but you’re not listening to me. I said I kicked a rock and hit a big poodle. The suffix ‘ed’ denotes past tense. “ Dave took a deep breath. “It was intentional?” Charles asked, a bit of a dazed look on his face. “Yes, it was intentional.” Charles paused. He then chuckled and said, “No, no, no, that’s impossible. They assured me that was impossible.” Dave leaned forward and said, “Why are you here, Charles?” “In about thirty minutes or so I was going to get into a tussle with a young lady and she slaps me at some point. Or, at least, that’s what they told me, in so many words. Also, since she has little ones, they arrested me, which I don’t mind. I would rather be here than getting slapped. You know?” He chuckled again. “Do you truly believe all this would have transpired? I mean, really?” Dave asked, placing his book on the crystal side table. “Well, of course,” Charles said. “Cause and effect, right? It makes sense. I did the research well before I forked out the money to come to this wonderful town. The future is dictated solely by the past and present. I mean, it’s the cornerstone of science, right?” “Let me ask you this, Charles. Why couldn’t they just tell you the prediction instead of arresting you? Could you change the future outcome if you knew the prediction? Meaning, could you have avoided the argument with the lady, altogether?” “Well, no. I don’t know, maybe. What are you trying to say?” “Okay, think about this. Almost a year ago, I was working on a transmission error between a satellite owl and a mobile monitor. After repairing it, an experiment occurred to me. I programmed it to predict my future action at 3:30pm, which was five minutes away. It first said that I would pack up my tools. So, I started packing up my tools right then at 3:25. The monitor did a funny thing. It went white all over and then gave a new prediction, saying I would walk past Scintillating Sasha clothing store. Of course, I decided not to walk that direction. So, you know, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The machine and I went back and forth like this until right up to 3:30 when the monitor flashed, ‘Error: Paradox of Idiopathic Origin.’” Dave paused for effect. “So, what do you make of that, Charles? Is this whole thing based on cause and effect like science? Or, is it knowledge? Does it not sound like a bit of a chess match where the one who predicts with the most precision wins?” “I… I don’t know.” Charles said, no longer chuckling. “What are you trying to say exactly? I mean, I paid millions of dollars to be here, and now you, apparently an engineer, are telling me that Laplace’s Angel doesn’t—I don’t know—work like they said.” Dave looked from Charles to Johnny, whose eyes were wide and lips stretched into a mischievous smirk. Chuck was even sitting up now. And so no nonsense Dave did the math. This could be bad, Dave thought. If Charles and/or this punk kid spread the news of this and cause numerous citizens to leave Laplace, Quantaco Industries might very well become upset with me. Even fire me! Henry and Rick are trustworthy, yes, but I don’t know these people. Though, what are the odds they will be able to recall the argument enough to persuade others? Damn, it doesn’t matter. Okay, take it back! “Dave!” a guard yelled. “Let’s go. It’s time for Clarification.” “Clarification? Hold on! Give me a second.” Dave turned his attention back to the three inmates and, in rapid speech, began, “Look, that was a long time ago. It was all a matter of lambda waves and entropy, you see. Disorder entered the system momentarily, but it was just noise, easily fixed. Don’t you see? It’s all deterministic, just one big spring shooting outward since the Big Bang. We can’t do anything about it. We can’t change it. It’s causality! Space, time, motion, energy, mass, acceleration, momentum, velocity. There is a huge wall there that we can’t penetrate no matter how hard we beat our heads against it. Don’t you see? But! The machine that we invented and created can. Remember that! It was just a temporary glitch. The machine knows! It keeps us safe and secure. It makes us free, free from fear. Those owls up there, they’re never wrong. Trust me, it’s true. Trust me.” Dave took a breath. Charles stared at him with a confounded expression. Johnny’s smirk fell flat. Silence permeated the cell. Then, Charles said with a newfound look of confidence, “Ah, I see. Okay. So, you’re certain about that?” Without hesitation, Dave replied, “Charles, I’m as certain as twice two makes four.” ------------- The Clarification room was a cozy little den. Flames flittered in a corner fireplace. Lit candles and flowers speckled the room in various vases and holders, and the smell was of strong, nose-stinging potpourri. A cherry wood dining room table sat in the middle with padded, silk upholstered chairs. Dave, sitting across from a man and a woman, snacked on cookies and celery from a tray on the table. “Today of all days, huh Dave?” Dave’s probation officer, Hillary, asked, a cone-shaped hat on her head that read, “Happy Birthday!” “Nice hat,” Dave said, provoking Hillary to remove it. “Dave, this is William. I know you’ve seen him around, but probably never been introduced. He’s Internal Affairs.” William was a young looking man—tall and lanky, dark haired. The arms of his sweater were tied around his chest with the rest of it sloped across his back like a cape. “Well, let’s see here,” William said, still wearing the birthday hat while studying Dave’s file. “You are charged with manifesting a premeditated event. Interesting. Okay, it says here this is your twentieth arrest.” He whistled his amazement and turned the page. “Um, hmmm, you spend most of your time either at the pub down the street, meditating on the floor with a sense of chronic buttocks pain, or throwing a ball against the outside of your loft in deep thought about many subjects. Whoa, wow! You’re able to hit the same spot every time.” He looked up with a chuckle. “I can’t hit the broad side of a building.” He looked back down at the file. “Very good, very good. Okay, yeah, um, here we go. As we all know, you’re the guru of Laplace’s Angel. So, I suppose the question we need to answer is pretty clear.” He looked up. “Did you tamper with it so that you could hurt that big poodle this afternoon?” “No,” Dave said. William glanced down at a mobile monitor. “It says you’re telling the truth; that you’ve been working on the fire alarm system this last month. Oh, and also the security alert system. Okay. I’m glad you’re being honest. That makes things so much easier.” “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” William said. “So, did you mean to hit the big poodle?” “Yes, very much so.” “Okay, I see. Then the charge is correct. That isn’t good. This is a first. Well, do you not like dogs?” “I love dogs. I love animals in general.” “So, why hurt Cynthia-sue?” “Well, it mostly has to do with DERT. It’s a long story.” “I see. I see. Okay.” He chuckled. Hillary shifted in her chair and said, “So, what happened, Dave?” “I need to speak to Gilbrithe,” Dave replied. “No, that’s not possible,” William said. “It’s his birthday today, as I’m sure you well know. He’s on a tight schedule. Almost everyone is here already. It’s a big deal.” “What I have to say is extremely important.” “Dave, come on,” Hillary said, “you can see him tomorrow.” “It’s very important. You don’t understand.” “It can wait,” William said with a carefree wave of his hand. “No!” Dave exclaimed with unexpected volume. “It can’t! Don’t you see? I manifested a premeditated event! I’ve proven the machine isn’t what we thought it was. Now, if you don’t let me see him, all hell could break loose!” “What could happen?” Hillary asked. “Look! I don’t know. Mrs. So-and-So could get angry with Mrs. Yo-Yo and kick her, or something. And you know how fast gossip spreads around here. If citizens doubt the machine, tons of money could be lost. I really need to talk to Gilbrithe!” William and Hillary looked at each other and then William looked down at his watch. “Well, I suppose it’s good to be on the safe side. I’m sure a small meeting with Mr. Gilbrithe won’t be such a big deal.” “I agree,” Hillary said. A few minutes after William and Hillary left the room, Joe, the Chief Safety Officer, entered—a stocky man with a square, chiseled face, a buzz cut, and wrinkles adorning his eyes like military achievement medals. “Dave, Dave, Dave, you just can’t help yourself, can you? I woke up this morning—and you can ask my wife, if you don’t believe me—I told her that I bet Dave gives us trouble today.” “Really,” Dave responded with a no nonsense nod. “Yeah, and just to think, if I could predict it, why couldn’t the machine?” “That’s a good point, Joe. You ought to ponder that some more when you get the time.” “Ponder? I try to stay away from doing stuff like that. Pondering and policing don’t go well together. But, come on, let’s get you to Mr. Gilbrithe’s office. We both know how punctual he tries to be.” “I know the way, Joe. I’m sure you have better things to do.” “Yeah, I do, but this little contraption of yours is ordering me to escort you,” Joe said, looking down at his mobile monitor. Dave peered up at the owl in the corner of the Clarification room and thought, What do you foresee? You know something. Very well, then. Let the chess game continue. I’m ready. --------- Mr. Gilbrithe’s office was located on the thirty-first floor of the Central Federal Facility, many stories above the Engineering floor and Public Safety floor. Joe and Dave entered from the east door via a long, rectangular administrative office containing a series of three desks with three attractive female secretaries. The office smelled like morning forest. All the furniture was constructed of mahogany, the chairs plush and leather. On a corner table, a humidifier motored. In the other three corners stood tall fichus trees, one of which extended up to the ceiling, slightly camouflaging the silver owl. A portrait portraying a tropical scene hung beside the west door, which led into a large conference room. “Joe, did the mobile monitor tell you why you were supposed to escort me?” Dave slyly asked, breaking the silence. “Nope,” Joe said, standing between the east door and a fire alarm button. “I see.” “Hey,” Joe said, “you coming down for cake after this?” “No, I don’t foresee that.” “I heard they’ll have chocol—” Gilbrithe, a plump jolly looking man, entered the office from the east door carrying a file. “Joe, how’s it goin’?” he said, slapping Joe on the shoulder. “Good, sir.” “All right,” he began with a sigh and a slide into his plush chair, reading the file in one hand and smoothing his gray hair with the other. “You did something a little different today, Dave. It says here that you ‘manifested a premeditated offense on a big poodle.’” Gilbrithe paused, maintaining a downward gaze. “I beat it, Tom,” Dave said matter-of-factly. “What? Is that why you so desperately wanted to see me?” Gilbrithe asked. “Yes. I should have gotten arrested before I struck the big poodle. But I wasn’t, and I committed the act.” Shaking his head, Gilbrithe said, “No. You kicked a dog, Dave.” “No, I kicked a rock into a dog, Tom.” “It was a dog.” “So what?” Dave asked, his voice a bit raised. “The machine doesn’t care about the animals. It wasn’t concerned.” “Concerned? Are you serious? If it didn’t care, why did it have me arrested after the fact?” Gilbrithe paused to ponder this question. “I don’t know. Maybe because of the distress you caused the owner.” “Oh, come on, Tom! That’s ridiculous. I beat the machine and that’s that.” “No, you didn’t. But, I’ll tell you what, I won’t count this arrest because it’s in the gray area. You’re still at nineteen. I think that’s a fair compromise.” Dave glanced over at Joe and then up at the owl behind the fichus. So, that’s why Joe’s here, Dave thought. You knew something more would happen. Very well then. “Fine,” Dave said and then closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. “Good,” Gilbrithe said, shutting the file. Okay, relax, free your mind, Dave thought. It’s time. Everything is set up. I can do this. Calm down. Once he was clear-headed, he stood and turned to his left and focused on the fire alarm button encased in glass next to Joe. After he took one step, Joe’s mobile monitor beeped and Joe looked down. “That’s strange,” Joe mumbled, and then slid one step to his left, placing himself between Dave and the fire alarm on the east wall. Dave stopped. Dammit! Nice move. Okay, Think! “Joe, will you please move?” Dave asked. Looking back down at his monitor, Joe said, “I can’t do that, Dave.” “What are you doing?” asked Gilbrithe. Dave looked at Gilbrithe and then spotted a heavy, dense, polished stone paperweight on the desk. His mathematical no fluff mind jostled through future scenarios, piecing together a puzzle of his own design. Then, like a slot machine hitting the jackpot, a future chain of events struck Dave’s consciousness, a series of deadly chess moves. “It ends here, Tom,” Dave said. “What ends here?” Dave walked towards Gilbrithe and slowly and carefully picked up the stone, his mind half in his imaginary future and half in the present. “What are you doing with that?” Gilbrithe asked. Dave then turned towards Joe and allowed his anger to return from its repressive basement. He needed his anger to flare up and he needed the owl to see it. He imagined Joe smashing the windows to his loft, sleeping with his High School girlfriend, kicking his grandmother. His anger grew. Then, he simply remembered the truth: Joe stood between Dave and DERT. Dave’s right hand reared back, stone in tight, white-knuckled grip, his face red. You better tell him to move, Dave thought. I’m truly angry and I’m going to throw it. “Whoa, Dave what are you doing?” Joe asked, raising his hands to chest level. “I need you to move, Joe. I really need you to move. You don’t know how much I need you to move. And this rock smashing your nose will do just that.” “Dave, settle down,” Gilbrithe pleaded, his hand stretched out towards Dave. “We can work something out here.” Joe looked down at his monitor, again. Dave thought of all he hated about Laplace and loved about DERT. He raised his arm, his red eyes set on Joe. There was a brief silence. Then, just as Dave suddenly brought his arm rapidly forward to propel the rock, Joe’s mobile monitor beeped. Joe heard the beep and saw Dave’s release and then gracefully leapt out of the way. The stone, continuing its course, collided violently with the fire alarm button, emitting a loud crashing sound of shattered glass. An alarm sounded. The eyes of the owl in the corner blinked furiously amidst the fichus foliage. “Check! Your move!” Dave said aloud to the owl as he dashed to the west door opposite Joe, who was still on the floor. The west door, due to the alarm system, was already closing when Dave sprinted through. Dave listened with a feeling of grand achievement to his handiwork, an alarm consisting of a soothing female voice saying, “This is a security alert. There has been a breach. Please remain where you are,” and then a male voice, with a rough tone, exclaiming, “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!” followed by four loud DONGS. Dave, now within the conference room, hit a button on his watch to start a timer and pressed his ear to the door. He heard a few taps from the other side. Then, Joe’s muffled voice said, “It won’t open, sir.” “Go that way. All rooms lead to the main hallway. Find him.” Just a few more seconds, Dave thought, staring down at his watch. Stay put, Tom, stay put. The alarm continued, “…has been a breach. Please remain where you are. FIRE, FIRE FIRE! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! This is a security…” Then, the west door slid open and Dave walked back into the office. He turned around to witness the west door slide shut behind him, then the east door in front of him. Dave and Gilbrithe were now encaged in the office alone. “What the hell is going on, Dave?” “I beat the machine,” Dave said calmly. “How can you say that? It looks like you’re trapped. It won’t be long before you’re arrested. And, let me add, for the twentieth time. I’m not letting this one go!” “Who do you think is controlling the doors right now, Tom?” “The machine, of course.” Dave looked at his watch and strolled confidently to the east door. “I’m sorry to have done this on your birthday, but what other day would every Safety Officer in Laplace be in the building at the same time?” “Exactly. You can’t get out of here without being arrested.” “Tom, all the doors in the building are locked shut by the security system programmed to contain a criminal. Only certain doors at certain times will momentarily open, and none of them are near the auditorium where everyone is. Once one opens—and only one will do so at any given time—I will be there to walk through it. Then, the next one will open. Do you see? It’s like a serpentine domino effect that only I know. Well, I take that back, the machine will also know, but what can it do about it? No one can follow me and no one else will be able to leave the building. Don’t you see? I’ve tied the wrists of the machine. I can walk out and commit any crime I wish. No Safety Officer will be able to leave the party to arrest me. Tom, I can put the town in utter uproar. You understand?” “You wouldn’t,” said Gilbrithe. “Do I win the wager?” Gilbrithe paused, glaring at Dave. Then his face calmed and a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He dropped his gaze on Dave and shook his head as one does when one gives up. The east door opened and Dave stepped through. “Hey, how long are we trapped in here?” Tom asked. “A couple hours.” “A couple hours? Now, come on Dave, was that really necessary?” With a no fluff chuckle and shrug, Dave said, “Probably not.” Then the door shut. Dave turned and speedily walked past three gawking secretaries to his next assigned door. It opened right on time. Traversing through each doorway, he either walked or ran depending upon the distance to the next, always thinking a few moves ahead. The machine couldn’t stop him. The alarm was constant. “…FIRE, FIRE FIRE! DONG! DONG! DONG! DONG! This is a security…” Exiting the stairwell into a tenth floor hallway, he encountered a young Safety Officer wearing a cone-shaped birthday hat and very much in a state of confusion. He stood still when the alarm told him to remain where he is, but then scrambled in frenzy to the closest door when the alarm yelled, “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!” Then he stood still again when told to do so. And, all the while, he continued to glance down at his mobile monitor for instruction. Dave came to a stop, his mouth agape. What’s his name? he asked himself. Dammit! They all look the same! Nevermind. Just be calm. “Dave, thank God! What’s going on?” the officer asked. “All the doors are locked and this thing is going crazy, blinking and beeping, telling me to arrest you when it should be telling me to find you so you can fix things, and those voices and noises are driving me crazy! The whole place has gone loony!” “Don’t worry about it,” Dave said as he walked to his next door. “Stay here and I’ll clear things up. Just give me another hour and fifty-seven minutes.” “An hour and what?” asked the officer as his mobile device beeped and blinked even faster. Dave’s next door opened and he passed through, leaving the obedient Safety Officer behind. As Dave neared the final door leading to the front of the building his thoughts were well ahead of his body, already tracing his steps to his favorite pub to sit on his favorite stool and have Rick pour his favorite no fluff gin and tonic. However, when he opened that last door and walked out into a star-filled sky and stood face-to-face with the full moon, his mind returned to the now. He stood still. The air was calm and thick with the scent of a new season. He turned around just as the door shut. His head tilted to the side. Turning back around, he closed his eyes and imagined the drive to Dixon Environmental Research Terminal. A grin graced his face as he could almost smell the pine. He envisioned a grand mountain range, the bright moon hanging to the north sprinkling down its sheen and illuminating the numerous rippled peaks before bending to shadowy troughs, the night dimming the array of colors provided by day, a blanket of gray presenting an appearance of a sculpture, ancient and majestic. Dave breathed in the moment and then peacefully looked up at a near-by machine. He whispered a single, victorious word: “Checkmate.” “Well done, Dave,” a familiar voice called out from the shadows. Dave looked in the direction of the sound and saw Henry sitting on a golden bench adjacent a Zen garden, a bag lying next to him. “Henry, hey!” Dave exclaimed with electricity in his voice as he frolicked—in a bit of a fluffy manner—over to Henry’s bench. “I did it. I won. Finally!” Henry stood up. “I’m excited for you. You’re on your way to DERT, huh?” “Yeah, I am. Maybe not right away. I’m sure I’ll have to wait for my replacement and then I’ll have to train him. But, no bother! I’m a short timer, now!” “Actually, you’re leaving in two days. Here’s your ticket.” Henry reached into his bag and produced a first class ticket to Colorado. Dave’s smile faded. “What’s this?” “You know what it is.” “No, what’s going on? How did you—” “Dave, my friend, it’s been fun drinking with you this past year and witnessing your little adventure. I think you’ve earned your transfer, at least, in my eyes.” “Your eyes?” “Yeah,” Henry said, reaching into his bag again and pulling out a mobile monitor, “my eyes.” “What are you doing with that?” “It said you’d be here right now. It said you would do everything you did tonight. By the way, the way you confused Charles, Johnny and Chuck in the holding tank was quite humorous. You were so disheveled. You’re a funny guy, Dave.” “What? I don’t… but the other monitors, all the owls—“ “What about them? They played along, so to speak. I thought it was time for you to win your wager—it being your last attempt and all—so I helped out.” “So, I didn’t really win?” Dave asked. “Oh, let’s not get into semantics, eh?” “How did you do this?” “Didn’t I tell you?” Henry asked with a sly smile. “I’m very, very rich.” With wide eyes, Dave said, “Henry, you’re a demon, I swear it.” “Come now, don’t be dramatic. You’d probably be stuck here for another eleven years if I hadn’t stepped in. I think it’s time to celebrate, don’t you?” “Yes,” Dave said, his face in a dead stare at the ground. As they commenced their trot away from the boxed up building to Rick’s pub, Henry said, “You better drink something a bit more potent than cranberry juice.” “Oh, don’t worry,” Dave said, “I’m going to get very, very drunk.” Henry chuckled.