Veil

by Aaron Overfield

  “I think so. So there will be two Veils and a wire will connect them, kind of like the one we used in the old lab? The ones that were hooked up to the computers?”

  “Well, there doesn’t have to be two. One Veil could store everything. But, yes, essentially you’re right, and all the functions those huge computers processed will get processed in the Veil device itself, on the fly. It will contain a processor inside and be programmed the same way as those mainframes. And, I think it’s important not to limit ourselves. I think instead of only talking about connecting two Veils we need to be thinking about it in terms of a network. Like, a host.”

  “A host?”

  “Yeah. We need to go at this with foresight, guys. What if there’s a situation where more than one person needs to be able to Veil someone? What if there needs to be multiple Witnesses uploaded onto a single person at one time? What if it needs to happen over a great distance?”

  “Why would they ever need to do that?”

  “Hell if I know. Look at how current technology is organized, though. Things are networked through hosts. We rarely connect two devices together; we use hubs. Things are networked internally and externally. I think it’s an important trend to take into consideration and it doesn’t overcomplicate things. If we’re going to design this, we might as well design it right and according to how other technologies are designed and trending.”

  Hunter knew that might be pushing it, but he imagined the inclusion of networking capabilities could be crucial for Veil when it was implemented in the real world. One thing he’d been honest about was his desire to design Veil to be as advanced as possible, by utilizing all the current technological trends and developments. Not only did he want to produce a product that would be market-ready, he also wanted to leave that lab with as close to a finished product as possible. Hunter didn’t want to waste any time in Ken’s lab once he made his move. The timing was critical. Again with the dramatics, he knew it could mean life or death.

  “And that won’t cause any problems?” Schaffer asked. “More than one Witness in a person at a time? Like it won’t short circuit them or something?”

  “No,” Hunter explained and tried to appear as patient and understanding as possible. “Because the neuroelectricity of The Witness is self-insulated. It only receives signals from the brain, not from another Witness, plus the different electrical currents don’t, for whatever reason, interfere with each other. You could literally upload a million Witnesses in someone and still be fine.”

  “It wouldn’t overload their brain or something?” Pollock wondered.

  “No, the neuroelectrical charge of The Witness is minuscule. And because each Witness has its own signature, if you will, its own unique frequency, which is how a brain can know to only accept information from a Witness it produced, each Veil will be able to recognize The Witness it mapped. So it will be able to single it out from all the rest.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Pollock groaned rhetorically. He pushed himself away from the table, threw his pen down, and leaned back in his chair.

  “Did you guys read the research. Like, at all?” Hunter teased.

  Ultimately, it was Pollock’s brilliant idea. The fact that it came from Pollock didn’t anger the other two or cause them to feel inferior in any way. Without acknowledging it, they were relieved Pollock could contribute somehow … some way … and garner a modicum of pride in thinking he actually came up with something; Pollock could think he actually came up with an idea. Which he did, in a sense, he just happened to present it in the usual, asinine Pollock way.

  “The blind dude, from Star Wars, except backwards,” he blurted.

  Schaffer looked at Hunter as if to say, Please, let me.

  He looked at Pollock and asked, “What the fuck are you talking about, Luke?”

  “You know, the black blind dude from Star Wars, who wore that gold band thingy to see.”

  That time it was Hunter’s turn.

  “First of all, it was Star Trek, not Star Wars, and second of all, what the fuck are you talking about?”

  Hunter and Schaffer laughed.

  Unfazed, Pollock stood, walked to the whiteboard, and started to draw.

  “Star Trek, whatever. Anyway, it can be shaped like that, except go around the back of the neck. Like eyeglasses that hook over the ears, except they fall down and rest on the nape of the neck. Backwards glasses but shaped like that visor thing the blind dude wears. And,” he rambled on as he added dotted lines that ascended from the visor-shaped device, “the thing that maps out the neuroelectricity can be collapsible; it can expand and contract in and out of the base automatically when the uploads and downloads take place. That way, the person doesn’t gotta have this stupid thing covering their head the whole time if they wanna leave the Veil thing on.”

  When Pollock stopped talking and stepped away from the whiteboard, Hunter knew he was looking at the very first Veil prototype. It was actually quite brilliant; it could be sleek and unobtrusive. It looked kind of futuristic but not in a cheesy way like those personal mobile fan collars, for which he was pretty sure Sharper Image was to blame. The base could provide ample room for all the components that would be necessary to download, upload, and transfer neuroelectricity, during which time it could also map it out, manipulate it, and process it.

  The concept could incorporate a direct connection port and a network connection port to play hub to a host in order to transfer multiple Witnesses. It could even connect to an entire Veil internet to transfer a Witness over great distances. And, best of all, the components responsible for the mapping, downloading, and uploading of the Witness could be folded up and tucked neatly inside the base when it wasn’t in use, like the roof of a convertible car. No ridiculous helmet thing that no one would want to be caught dead wearing in public.

  “Holy shit,” was the best response Hunter could muster. He realized he was probably slack-jawed the entire time Pollock described and sketched his concept.

  Ten days later, the Terminal program on Brock’s monitor opened. That time the cursor immediately started typing.

  “It’s ready. Get online, book a ticket to D.C. for first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t worry about the price. Book it and call your parents and tell them you’re coming home to visit. Then call my phone and tell me you’re flying here tomorrow to see your parents. Ask me if I can find a van to pick your disabled ass up from the airport.”

  Brock responded, “SKSK.”

  8

  REVEILLE

  Hunter couldn’t have made a bigger show of it if he tried, which was saying a lot if one considered it was Hunter. His overwhelming, over the top excitement and pride were palpable. His best friend in the entire world, who also happened to be his first patient and whole reason for becoming a doctor, was coming into town. Oh, how he couldn’t wait for everyone to meet him.

  He hoped he could find a way to show him the lab. Maybe put all the “Top Secret” stuff away for a couple of hours? Oh, and he was absolutely positive the General’s wife would love to meet his friend Brock and hear his story. The General’s wife loved to hear stories that made her feel sympathy; oh, how she relished in her ability to feel so much sympathy. Yes, Hunter was certain, Lynn Coffman simply had to meet Brock, too.

  And damn, did Brock ever live up to his part. Hunter was blown away by how well Brock played along. Brock was usually quite visibly apathetic when obliged to regale people with stories of his accident, his struggles, his despair, his triumphs, and his good friend and personal doctor, Hunter Kennerly. There were a couple of times, especially when having dinner at General Coffman’s home, where Hunter sat back and watched Brock have a go at it.

  Hunter got a little misty-eyed at times. Not at all for the same reasons as everyone else in the room. He lived most of the stories with Brock so hearing them out loud was beyond banal. No, Hunter was moved by how well he taught his best friend to be a lying, conniving, deceiving, manipulative bastard. He couldn’t remember
ever being so proud.

  “Ironic how they never see the guy in the wheelchair coming, huh?” Brock joked when they returned to his childhood home.

  “That should be the title of your book,” Hunter declared and pillaged Brock’s dad’s bar.

  “Should you really be doing that?” Brock scolded but knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  “Kiss it,” was Hunter’s reply as he twisted the cap off one of the airplane mini-sized bottles Brock’s dad collected. He tilted it in Brock’s direction for a mock cheers and then downed its entire contents. He performed the same dramatics three more times before he flung himself onto the couch.

  “How long am I staying with my parents? With your drinking habit, this could get expensive for them.”

  “I’m not sure, really. Today makes day—what? Eleven?”

  “Thirteen,” Brock informed him and rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, shit, cutting it kinda close, aren’t we?”

  Brock didn’t reply with his computer and instead let out a guttural, “Mmhmmm.”

  “Oh cool it, Elizabeth. We told them two weeks and it will be two weeks. We could even buy ourselves more time if we needed, but I’m pretty sure we don’t. We’ll call them tonight and make plans for you to meet up with Ken. Maybe meet tomorrow.”

  Brock responded through his computer and prodded, “For me to meet up with Ken? Me?”

  “Yes—you. You asshat. What am I supposed to, waltz out of there, go meet up with the dead doctor’s old partner and then waltz right back in? Do you really think it’s that easy? Would I’ve needed to go through all this,” Hunter asked as he spread his arms wide and gestured around Mr. Elsbeth’s den.

  “Well you didn’t mention anything about field trips. How much am I getting paid? What’s my per diem? What do I get out of all this?” Brock joked.

  “What do you get out of it? Well maybe I’ll go out tonight and pick up some hot straight guy. We’ll come back here and you can listen to us fuck each other’s brains out on your bedroom floor.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I know you do.”

  “No, seriously, I hate you. You’re like the worst person ever.”

  “Yep.”

  “You’re so gross Hunter. Why am I even friends with you? And, if a dude sleeps with you, he’s not straight.”

  “Didn’t hear you complain when I jacked you off in Lacey Newlin’s basement when we were thirteen, ya big homo,” Hunter laughed and rushed to unplug the monitor attached to Brock’s chair before he could type a reply.

  Brock groaned nonstop as loudly as he could until it became clear he wasn’t going to let up. Hunter finally plugged the monitor back in, just to shut him the hell up.

  Brock typed, “I hate you, fag.”

  The two laughed and Hunter decided time would go by faster if he ordered pizza. They still had a couple of hours to waste before they could call Tsay’s wife and his old partner. Although they just returned from dinner at General Coffman’s, the activities and excitement of the day wore on them. While they looked for a place to order from, Hunter glanced at his friend and was struck by a wave of guilt and sadness that Brock’s only sexual experience was a nearly prepubescent typical boyhood jerk-off session.

  Brock wasn’t gay—not by a long shot. Not even remotely close. He and Hunter were night and day in that regard. Given a different fate, Hunter imagined Brock would probably have been married by then, perhaps with kids. The thought of it almost made him shudder, but he did feel a certain sadness for his friend. Not pity. A twinge of sadness. He began to feel badly for how he joked earlier. Not once did they speak of the random, meaningless act between them.

  Brock looked up and caught Hunter staring at him while lost in thought. He typed something into the computer and Hunter’s attention snapped back when the voice came from Brock’s chair.

  “Seriously, try any gay shit and I’m peeing on you. You freak.”

  Hunter rolled off the couch with laughter and no longer felt bad for anything. He laughed so hard his stomach cramped and tears rolled down his temples into his hair. No one else could elicit laughter like that from him. No one.

  He pulled himself up from the floor, plopped back on the couch and asked, “So what do ya wanna eat, ya cripple?”

  It was Hunter’s first time being present during one of Brock’s calls with Suren and Ken. “Don’t let them know I’m in the room with you. I’m not going to talk.”

  “Ok.”

  “Put the phone on speaker and hopefully there won’t be any interference or feedback from the computer.”

  “It’s a crap phone. It will probably pick up interference from the air alone.”

  “I know,” Hunter replied and grabbed the plastic bag that contained the prepaid cellphone they purchased for that purpose while faux-sightseeing after Brock’s arrival the day before. “But like I said, using the phone in here would be way too risky.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Let them know the call isn’t scripted so you’ll be typing, which takes longer.”

  “Yeah. I think they understand. I mean, they at least know I can’t speak unassisted. I think. Actually, I have no idea what they know. Never mind.”

  “Maybe they think you’re—” Hunter started to say as he struggled to open the packaging for the prepaid cell phone. Instead of finishing the sentence, Hunter hummed and sang the theme song for Inspector Gadget.

  “God, you are such a prick. How has no one ever killed you? Someone should’ve killed you by now,” Brock directed the computer to say and then rolled his eyes in disapproval of his friend.

  “I’m slippery,” Hunter shrugged nonchalantly and placed the cell phone face-up on the tray in front of Brock.

  “That’s called slimy. You’re a slimy dude.”

  “My balls are slimy.”

  “Ewww. I’ve never liked you. You do realize this, right?”

  “Sad that I’m your best friend then,” Hunter smiled and leaned over Brock’s shoulder. He pressed the ‘send’ button on the phone, winked, and said, “Ok Sweetness, you’re on.”

  Twenty-seven minutes later, their plan was set. Brock and Ken would meet the following morning at the World War II memorial in downtown D.C. at 11:00 am. Ken would give Brock a flash drive containing a digital version of Encyclopedia Veil and bring an additional blank drive for the schematics. After that, they all had a total of four days; both groups only had four days until Hunter made his big move.

  Once Ken’s so-called Encyclopedia Veil was in his hands, Hunter would study the document for the following two nights, after his usual work in the lab. He wanted to allow himself enough time to thoroughly read every bit of Ken’s document. He couldn’t risk bringing any of the new data into the lab. He needed to commit all of it to memory. He figured two nights of studying would be enough. Then, he would use the following days in the lab to add the new programming to the Veil prototype schematics—provided he could get the knuckle-draggers to go the fuck away.

  Hunter already knew how he was going to distract the pair and keep them out of the lab for the two whole days he required in order to write, program and test the additional coding. Since they developed a fully functional, basic prototype of Veil, the next logical step would be for them to test it. Hunter would just so happen to have himself a seemingly spontaneous yet brilliant idea: over the course of those two days he needed the lab to himself, Schaffer and Pollock should Veil each other. In fact, Hunter would have it no other way.

  Of course, the two would predictably protest Hunter’s brilliant idea, but he went in prepared. To address what he knew would be their main, underlying reason, he stated bluntly at the outset that, yes, the two of them despised each other. Let them simply call a spade a spade, talk about the elephant in the room, all that good stuff he knew the two of them desperately wanted to avoid.

  During the Veil process, they would experience the contents of each other’s respective heads, which would include their mutual dislike of each oth
er. That mutual dislike was of no secret to either of them, so to experience it through Veil shouldn’t come as shock. Besides, he pointed out, neither of them had the right to hold it against the other because the feelings were mutual. Plus, he added, the two of them would remain separated for the duration of each Veil so, unless they went out of their way to think about each other, the exposure to those particular thoughts and feelings would be rather limited.

  But why would they want to Veil each other in the first place, they wanted to know. Hunter of course predicted they would want to know that and was prepared with his answer. The answer was simple, he told them. They already conducted one test-run each, using the original Veil, so not only did they know what to expect, they had something against which they could compare; they could judge the effectiveness of their design against the original. And, to really answer their question, he added, who better to test it on than someone who knew what Veil was and how it functioned, so they could get an understanding of how a mind worked when it knew it was being Veiled.

  He reminded them how the original test subject had no idea he was being Veiled, so on their first run the two of them got glimpses into a completely uninhibited mind. By Veiling each other, they would get a better grasp on the nuances of the mind, which in turn would give them more accurate findings to provide the General. He could’ve ended any closing argument with the phrase ‘to provide the General’ and the two men would’ve tripped over themselves to do whatever it was Hunter recommended—which was exactly what they did.