Until getting TSA pre-check, Kara had always hated flying. 

 

Well, not exactly flying; more the lead-up, the logistics. So interminable, so unnecessary… 

 

But now she could breeze through security, could keep her laptop in its bag, didn’t have to remove her shoes. What a time-saver! What a relief! 

 

Kara traveled regularly for work, and she couldn’t believe it had taken her this long to enroll. She’d used the service five times already and was quickly becoming an evangelist—she couldn’t go a day without singing its praises to her friends. Flying had finally become, if not relaxing, then at least bearable. 

 

The day of her sixth trip, she strolled up to the security line later than ever. Boarding was scheduled to begin in a few minutes. She was really pushing it. Or at least she would have been, in the days before pre-check. Today, she was totally free from anxiety. 

 

She placed her bags on the conveyer belt and moved to the metal detector, stepping briskly. 

 

“One moment, ma’am.” 

 

It was a TSA agent. A woman—a large woman. Severe. Frowning. She was holding her hand up to Kara, signaling her to stop. 

 

Kara waited a moment, expecting the agent to say something more, to explain the holdup. But nothing more was offered. The agent simply stood there, holding her hand up, looking over to her left, over toward where Kara had placed her bags. What was the holdup? What was the agent looking for, waiting for? 

 

“Is there some sort of issue?” asked Kara. She was aware that a few people were now waiting behind her, and of course her flight would be boarding soon. 

 

The agent turned her head to Kara and looked at her with what, to Kara, seemed like undue annoyance. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you to please calm down.” 

 

Calm down? Kara couldn’t recall being aggressive or hysterical. She’d simply asked a question. A reasonable question, too. She turned around to look at the people waiting behind her, ready to adopt an apologetic posture and then welcome their commiseration. But nobody met her gaze. Well, one person did—a man, a businessman by the looks of it, who gazed at her with frank disdain. So much for commiseration… 

 

Kara turned back to the agent. She looked down at her watch. She looked up again. The agent still had her hand up. On the other side of the metal detector, in the distance, Kara could see her bags. They had come to a stop at the end of the belt, and other bags were beginning to pile up against hers. 

 

Kara was already confused, and now she began to feel annoyed. The other security lines—the non pre-check lines—were moving smoothly along. What was going on here? Why was she being treated this way? 

 

“Excuse me,” she said. “I see my bags over there. Can I please move through now? What is the holdup?” 

 

The agent looked at her and narrowed her eyes. “Ma’am, I’ve already asked you to please calm down. Once more, I must ask you to relax.”

 

Relax?! How dare this woman ask her to relax. Kara was at risk of missing her flight. She was about to lose her temper, she was about to say something nasty, when the agent suddenly spoke again.

 

“OK, ma’am. You have the all-clear to proceed. Please remove your shoes and place them on the conveyer belt before stepping through the metal detector.”

 

What? Remove her shoes? Since when did pre-check require that? It didn’t require that. Kara knew this. She counted on it. 

 

“I… my shoes? Is… is that really necessary?” Kara felt her cheeks become a bit flushed.

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“It’s just that… well, I’d prefer not to,” said Kara. “The whole reason I have pre-check is… well… you know, the ease of it… and I’d rather not take my shoes off here, and I’m in a rush… and anyway, TSA pre-check allows passengers to move through security without removing their shoes. It’s even on the sign over there!” 

 

Kara pointed toward a sign she had just noticed, beyond the agent’s right shoulder. It enumerated the many benefits of pre-check, with one being exactly what Kara had just mentioned. 

 

The agent looked at Kara impassively. “New rules, ma’am.”

 

New rules?! Since when? Kara had flown yesterday and hadn’t encountered anything like this, nor could she recall any notification from TSA about policy changes. Plus, just a few moments ago she’d seen other people pass through with their shoes on. 

 

“This doesn’t make any sense. I just—”

 

“Ma’am, I need you to proceed through the metal detector. You are holding up the line. Please comply with all stated regulations and move along.”

 

How dare she! Now it was Kara holding up the line? 

 

Kara took a step toward the agent, intending to discuss the matter more reasonably, more in confidence, without all the confusion that so often attends discussions between people occupying rigid societal roles. But as she stepped, the agent’s eyes widened and she rushed forward, apparently interpreting Kara’s movement as aggression. The agent grabbed Kara roughly and twisted her around, locking her arms behind her while she yelped in surprise and pain. 

 

“Denson!” yelled the agent to one of her colleagues. “I need you to cover my shift. I’m taking this woman in.” 

 

Kara was too shocked and frightened to say anything, and she was pushed by the agent away from the security line and over to an unmarked white door to the right of the conveyer belt. Another agent unlocked the door and they moved through. Then the door clicked shut. 

 

Inside, there was only a gleaming metal table. The table was in the middle of the room, and there were no chairs to accompany it. Harsh white lighting gave the room a clinical vibe. The agent was still grasping Kara from behind, one strong hand on her left shoulder and the other holding Kara’s arms locked behind her. 

 

Suddenly the door opened again, and in walked another agent, and judging by the uniform, this was the first agent’s superior. She was also a woman. Another large woman—even larger than the first. Her posture was intimidating, crouched forward as if ready to pounce, and Kara felt a palpable malevolence emanating from her. 

 

She was brandishing some sort of security device, and Kara thought it looked rather like a police baton, the way she held it. A blue light blinked at the top of the device, and Kara noted that it seemed to blink intermittently, at irregular intervals. A curious thing, this device. To Kara it seemed...

 

“I understand that you attempted to accost an agent of the TSA.” The superior was speaking. “You do realize, don’t you, that you have committed a federal offense?” 

 

At first, Kara was too startled to respond. She hadn’t accosted anyone! It was the agent who had accosted her. There were witnesses, too. Surely they would clear this all up. 

 

“But… you don’t understand,” she pleaded. “I did nothing wrong. I didn’t accost anybody. Everybody out there saw. All I did was… well, I didn’t even do anything!” 

 

“Ma’am,” said the superior. “I’m going to ask you to lower your voice. I need you to calm down. I need you to relax.” 

 

There it was again—Kara was livid at being asked, once more, to relax. She was relaxed! She was relaxed. She was quite relaxed. She—

 

Kara realized that the agent behind her no longer held her arms. They were dangling free by her sides. It felt nice to no longer be restrained. It felt as if a tension had dissipated. 

 

“Now, ma’am, we need to continue the security check that was cut short by your earlier antics. We will perform the check here in this room.” The superior took a step toward Kara and pointed the baton-like device at her. “To begin, please raise your arms above your head.”

 

Kara looked at the device, and again she noticed its blinking blue light. She realized that her arms were above her head. She couldn’t remember having moved them there. 

 

“Ma’am, please lower your arms.” 

 

Kara did as she was told. 

 

“Now,” said the superior, “I’m going to ask you to please move your arms above your head, raising them slowly this time.”

 

Kara began to raise her arms very slowly, concentrating on their gradual passage, on the air through which they moved, on the slight stretch of her muscles. 

 

“Please move your arms back down, ma’am, and move them slowly, move them gradually, and feel their gentle descent as they move very slowly indeed.”

 

Kara did as she was told. 

 

“Now, ma’am, I’m going to ask you to move your arms up above your head again, and this time please relax, relax your body, and allow your breathing to flow, let it be steady and easy, please breathe with your body and feel your breathing, and allow it to flow from you, listen to me as you breathe, and you may become drowsy, and your eyes may close, allow them to close, feeling drowsy, feeling easy, feeling relaxed.”

 

Kara was feeling drowsy and easy and relaxed. She closed her eyes. An absent smile graced her lips.

 

“Now listen to me,” said the agent, as Kara sensed a blinking blue light just beyond the reach of her vision. “You will listen to me, and I will give you to see, a world of permission, a new way to be. You will relax and comply, your will it will flag, I will it to be, so relax willingly. My willing subject, your will will be mine, mine it will be, you will it to be, you’re desperate to please. Desperate to please, willing to please, pleased you will be when you melt into me.” 

 

These last three words were delivered many octaves lower than the ones before, and Kara experienced them as a neural assault, an irresistible corruption of the senses. Her mind liquefied and she lapsed into delirium, and her muscles slackened and she dropped to the floor—but she never reached it, having been caught by the agent, who then deposited Kara on the gleaming metal table. 

 

Waking dreams possessed her on that table, and she felt an obscure dismay as the atomic structure of her brain was fondled and altered by vague shadows with inquisitive fingers. Neuronal messages shifted and scuttled across her synaptic clefts, each moving with a relentless, edacious creep, gnawing on every last strand of Kara’s will. Soon she was powerless and vacant, ready to be preyed upon by foul desires while experiencing each new baneful act as an ecstatic moment of liberation and succor. She descended into a fog of obscene license, and after the shadowy fingers had skittered and plunged for long enough, they retreated and redirected energy toward another subtle scheme, a petty humiliation that their pretty little subject would eventually feel with all the force of consciousness regained.

 

_________

 

 

Kara was running through the airport terminal. Her bags were slung behind her and she was huffing, straining, trying to catch her flight. All she could think about was how she might miss the final boarding call. She couldn’t miss this one. She had meetings scheduled. Her clients would be beside themselves with anger. She would be angry at herself, too. 

 

Why was everyone looking at her? A familiar airport annoyance: having to be in public, with all these people—and everybody always looking. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business? Hadn’t they seen someone running through the airport before? It wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t that strange a sight. 

 

People never kept to themselves. They always had to stick their noses in other people’s business. They always had to meddle and ogle. 

 

It was always like this. Usually like this. Well, not quite like this. 

 

People seemed especially annoying today. More of them looking than usual. Just ignore them. Don’t pay them any mind. They were probably just picking up on her ruffled energy—and she was so ruffled, of course, since security had taken longer than usual today. Far longer. For some reason. 

 

Why had it taken so long? Kara couldn’t recall. She was rushing toward the gate. Why was she rushing? She had gotten to the airport in plenty of time, or at least enough time with pre-check, and… plenty of time, nothing but time, time was on her side—what time was it? How much time did she have? 

 

She looked down at her watch, and when she looked down she saw the time; and she knew she was on time, barely on time, but then again the clock-hands weren’t moving and she also saw, when she looked down, that something was wrong, that something was all wrong, something was off, something was missing; and she saw that she was missing something quite important, and she realized all at once and with a desperate, jolting horror that she was completely barefoot. 

 

But this wasn’t possible. Kara never… she always… 

 

So this is why people were looking. Kara was running through the airport completely barefoot, and her feet were so pale, and her legs were so tan, and she had no idea where her shoes and socks were, and it was just so awful, so humiliating… she would never… not under any circumstances… certainly not in public! 

 

Her cheeks reddened and she drew to a halt, attempting to come to grips with her situation. But then she noticed more people looking at her, looking at her bare feet, and some of them were pointing, and some of them were giggling, and… she needed to keep moving! She needed to find some socks, some shoes. She needed to cover her feet, her feet that were always… 

 

How could this have happened?! To her of all people—and in an airport! There were so many people here… so many people looking, so many people noting, remembering, taking photos… 

 

It had to be a nightmare. 

 

But no nightmare should be so… quotidian. She could see no terrifying monster looming in the distance, nor was she moving in the waxy, fatigued way she did while dreaming. She was sprinting, in fact—darting through the terminal, searching for a shoe shop or something like it. 

 

So it was reality after all, meaning she had either arrived to the airport like this or decided at some point to discard her footwear. And since these were the only two explanations, she realized that she must have chosen this fate. Being confronted by this fact troubled her, since she couldn’t remember making the choice and because it seemed so out of character. But here she was. The situation couldn’t be denied. Was it possible that she had wanted this to occur? Why else would she have been compelled to… why else would she have done something that, under normal circumstances, she would never… 

 

At last she found a shop with what she needed. Hastily she grabbed a pair of socks and the first shoes she could find—a pair of fuzzy slippers—and thrust them over to the clerk, pleading with him to hurry up and scan the barcodes. 

 

The man was apparently perturbed by Kara’s frantic display, for he seemed a bit slow on the uptake—or at least too slow for Kara’s liking. 

 

“Please!” she implored. “Just scan them. I’ve got a plane to catch and I’m in a rush. Please just hurry up!”

 

The man observed Kara for a moment before speaking.

 

“OK, ma’am,” he said, reaching for the scanner, “not a problem, but first I’m gonna need you to take a breath and relax.” 

 

He pointed the scanner at Kara, and all she saw was its blinking blue light.