Veil

by Aaron Overfield

  “Oh shut it. So what were you over there blabbering on and on about?”

  “Blabbering about? Blab … ugh. I’m not even going to justify that. What I was trying to tell you was how the design is brilliant and the guy, this Hunter fellow, must’ve really understood Jin’s work. I’m actually excited to meet him. More importantly though, what the hell is up with you?”

  He stood next to her and leaned his back against the counter. She didn’t turn away from the stove and continued to piddle with the pots.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, without turning to look at him.

  “You know what I mean. How are you not vibrating with uncontrollable excitement right now? Everything we’ve been working for is about to happen. Five days. Five days, Suren, and Veil will be in our hands.”

  She stood silent and mindlessly stirred the sauce. She’d already turned off the burner.

  “I don’t know. I mean, of course I’m happy this is all happening. But … I don’t know. I guess I’m scared. For a few reasons.”

  “Scared? You mean in the ‘scared of the military’ kind of way?” he asked.

  “That’s part of it, sure. I think we’re all scared of that. We all know what they’re capable of. I don’t know. I mean, once this happens, then what? It’s been everything I’ve focused on since I lost Jin. Now it’s about to happen. So it happens and then what? And I’m not trying to sound selfish or like some pathetic, lost woman. But really, then what? You go back to your life. I have nothing to go back to. I’m just here,” she pointed at the living room with the wooden spoon in her hand and made small, circular motions in the air.

  “Suren—”

  “Oh God, just saying it I hear how horrible it sounds. Of course you go back to your life; that’s not what I meant. You should go back to your life. It’s your life. I’m not trying to guilt you or fish for your pity. I … I don’t know. I guess I shouldn’t have said anything at all. I really don’t know.”

  He did have some fleeting thoughts about what might happen once all the work was done, no matter which way it all went. It’s not like the thought never occurred to him. He was pretty sure that wasn’t the first time it occurred to her, either. It was the first time they were so close; they literally almost had Veil in their hands. They could taste it and damn did it ever taste like some sweet ass revenge.

  “Suren, I don’t think you understand. There is no going back. After this, there’s no going back—ever.”

  “What do you mean? Of course there’s—” she started.

  “No,” Ken stopped her. “There’s not. We never got to finish our conversation the other night. Remember? The phone rang. Remember what we were talking about before then?”

  She thought for a moment. “Kind of … oh yeah, how you won’t use Veil. You don’t believe in it.”

  “Before that. What we first started talking about. About how big Veil could be.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that. Ok.”

  Ken placed his glass of wine on the counter. He turned toward her, grabbed her by the shoulders, and turned her toward him so they stood face-to-face. He held onto her shoulders.

  “Suren, Veil will change everything. Everything. I’m certain of it. Absolutely certain. From the very first moment Veil hits, it will change absolutely everything and everyone. There will be no going back, and your life is going to become something you can’t begin to prepare for right now. To the entire world, you’re going to be the wife of this amazing Jin Tsay guy. Trust me, you’re going to wish you could be alone. Good or bad, you’re about to become a part of history.”

  “I hope so,” she sighed and tried to force a smile.

  “Hope floats … Veil is going to fly. It’s going to fly.” Ken beamed.

  She stood in the kitchen and stared at Ken, trying to force out a smile that would equal his. He’d let go of her shoulders when tears filled her eyes—as soon as he said Jin’s name. She wasn’t sad; she was torn and didn’t know what to say or how to feel.

  Part of her wanted to believe him and mostly because she wanted the entire world to know about her Jin. She didn’t want him to be forgotten. She wanted everyone to see how great he was. If she couldn’t get justice for him, at least she could get him remembered. Really remembered.

  She also wanted to believe Ken because she knew she had no life after Veil. She had no Jin. She had a house, but she had no home. She had no career. Good or bad, being a part of history was at least a life she could start to live. Good or bad, being a part of history because of Veil was a way she could go on living in the only way she knew how and in the only way she wanted: as the wife of Jin Tsay.

  She smiled at Ken—a genuine smile—and told him he was right. Veil would fly. She glanced down at the sauce and noticed it cooled and quickly thickened.

  “Damnit,” she growled.

  Ken laughed and shuffled back over to the iPod. He pressed ‘play’ and Nina wailed at them, fittingly of course.

  I won’t be blue always.

  “The fucker was thorough,” he said, almost in disbelief.

  No response.

  He looked up at Brock and finally noticed that he fell asleep in his wheelchair. Brock sat there for so long while he watched Hunter go through all the files, that he dozed off. Hunter kicked the side of Brock’s chair and raised his voice.

  “I said—the fucker was thorough.”

  Brock barely opened his eyes, looked at Hunter, and grunted.

  “Oh, you pussy. Fine. Here. I’ll get you into bed. You big fucking baby.”

  He positioned the wheelchair parallel to Brock’s bed, pulled the covers down, and lifted him up enough to plop him onto the mattress. He shuffled Brock until he was able to pull the covers over him. Brock gave him a dirty look and moved his head and shoulders around—the only parts he could move—and got comfortable. He quickly fell back asleep.

  Hunter leaned down and kissed his friend’s forehead. He kept the position for a few seconds and slid his face down the side of Brock’s until their heads were pressed together, facing opposite directions, pressed temple to temple.

  In that position, he pushed his head up against his friend’s in a sort of head-hug and whispered, “Get some sleep, bud. We’ve got a lot coming and I need you.” Hunter kissed his friend’s cheek, turned around, and pushed the wheelchair into the middle of the room.

  Before he plunked into the seat he loudly proclaimed, “And now I get to sit in ya chair, bitch!”

  He plopped down and intentionally wiggled his butt around a few times and ground it into the seat. Brock groaned; Hunter smiled.

  He didn’t want to risk getting Ken’s files anywhere near his own computer so he used Brock’s to read through everything. Unfortunately for Brock, that left him without much to do except sit and watch Hunter look at documents that Brock couldn’t come close to understanding. Over a thousand pages of documents. Hundreds of thousands of words, hundreds of diagrams, and countless equations. It was all there, though. From beginning to end, from theory to an operational device. And, Ken was right: his version contained functionality far beyond the research in the military’s possession.

  Hunter understood why that would be the case. While the additions certainly were things for which the military could find a use somewhere down the road, they didn’t add anything to their initial intended purpose for Veil. The Veil device the military had in their possession was all the weapon they needed.

  That was exactly how Hunter thought of such a device in the military’s hands: it was a very powerful weapon. A weapon whose efficacy rested almost entirely in its secrecy. Take away that secrecy and you essentially disarmed it; you disarmed them.

  “Good,” Hunter mumbled out loud without realizing.

  The additional programming was easy to spot, and not simply because Hunter hadn’t encountered it before. The coding was rough and sloppy. All of Jin’s other work was polished and meticulously precise. The additions were more theoretical, if computer coding could reflect a theory.
If anything, the rough language was an indication the coding never actually took place; it was only a first draft of basic syntax that would be cleaned up during the process of programming.

  It made sense because Tsay’s partner didn’t have a device to experiment on, so he worked purely from documentation, notes, and speculation. Considering that, Hunter thought it was an impressive job and, despite being rough, he could work with it. After only one night of reading the new source material, Hunter was certain he could have it all memorized and ready to be coded. He was sure he could get it coded in two days. That was, if everything went according to plan and if the two knuckle-draggers stayed the hell away from the lab.

  The days went by like a blur for Hunter and Ken but seemed like the longest days of Suren and Brock’s lives. Hunter and Ken felt alive with fire-like intensity and were barely able to slow down, especially long enough to sleep. They felt a clock ticking against them while they worked toward the same goal, albeit from different directions. Hunter, in the military lab, had to finalize and document all the coding and schematics for the perfected and complete Veil device; Ken, in his lab, had to construct another prototype of the device Hunter designed, and ensure the device would be ready and waiting for Hunter in case it was needed when he arrived. Neither man knew what kind of progress the other was making and neither man knew what awaited him come Monday morning.

  Since he bought himself an entire day by requesting Monday off, Hunter could’ve changed their rendezvous with Ken and Suren to anytime Sunday evening after his work in the military lab was finished for the night. Hunter tried to plan ahead and buy them all as much time as possible. He realized there was no way they could get through everything that needed to be done in order to get Veil market-ready by Tuesday. Because he knew Tuesday might be the first day the military started to look for him, he figured it best to have a few things in place that could throw the military off track or, at the very least, delay suspicion.

  Hunter already decided not to take the prototype from the military’s lab when he made his break. That was a no-brainer for him. With the device still in their possession, the military might not scrutinize his disappearance as anything more than irresponsible unaccountability. The favor he won over from the General would provide him some benefit of the doubt, perhaps enough to carry over through Tuesday all the way into Wednesday.

  He figured Schaffer and Pollock, having been off Monday as well, would spend Tuesday debriefing and finalizing the summary reports for the Veils they conducted on each other over the weekend. Knowing them, they’d sit around most of the day Tuesday and talk incessantly about what they experienced, although they’d know neither of them would be listening to the other. That still wouldn’t stop either of them from talking. Hell, maybe experiencing the contents of each other’s minds and how they really felt about each other would cause enough animosity that they’d both stay in their offices and avoid each other for most of the day. For all they knew, Hunter requested off from work on Tuesday as well.

  That could bring them all the way to Wednesday before Hunter’s disappearance was actually noticed. Even then, with the device in their possession and the General’s favor working to his benefit, they still might not suspect anything. They might not suspect anything until they went to use Veil again and discovered that, despite two very successful test runs on Saturday and Sunday, the device didn’t work. At all.

  Then, and perhaps only then, they might start to suspect that maybe Hunter had been a Judas in their midst. Shit, that could bring them all the way to Friday. He and Ken could definitely have a market-ready Veil device by Friday. He could guaran-fucking-tee it.

  As he worked through the additional programming, Hunter came across a new line of code that seemed to serve no purpose and made no practical sense, especially when he considered the feature into which the line of code was written. One of the features provided by Ken’s additions was the ability to mute or enhance signals from The Witness. Any signals, not simply physical responses but even thoughts, emotions, sights, and sounds. Any signals at all.

  If used correctly, Hunter thought the feature could definitely be something of value, although it if used incorrectly it might also make some rather concerning uses of Veil possible. However, the way the code was written, by default all signals from The Witness would be muted unless the trigger were manually overridden. Essentially, Veil was locked in the “off” position through its very programming.

  At first, the small bit of code didn’t make any sense to Hunter. It wasn’t simply erroneous coding; it was specifically written to work in that manner. Trying to think like Ken, he quickly realized the necessity of it, and if Ken was dealing with anyone other than Hunter, he might’ve actually pulled it off. It was a good one.

  It was a kill switch: a small, practically invisible bit of coding to render the entire device useless. Finding the bit of code, unless someone was familiar enough to know where to look, would be like tracking down one single cell in an entire body. Hunter couldn’t blame Ken for that tactic one bit; Ken had no idea if he could trust him and Brock, so the kill switch was at least an attempt to neutralize the device until they all met up as planned. Without intending to, Ken gave Hunter the perfect way to disarm the military’s prototype so Hunter could leave it in their possession but have it be absolutely useless to them. By the time those knuckle-draggers figured it out, he laughed, there’d be a Veil device in every single household.

  That did leave one more open end, however, and it was one that was going to be frustratingly crucial to tie up: Brock. Not simply Brock, though: Brock and General Coffman or, more accurately, Brock and Lynn Coffman. Lynn The Insufferable Bitch Coffman. One of the last things the General said was he’d give his wife a call and let her know Hunter and Brock would be over for dinner Monday night.

  Hunter didn’t want to leave that hanging in the air, and there was no way the two were going to mosey on over to the Coffman house Monday night after Hunter just stole the full schematics of Veil right from under the General’s nose. Hunter prided himself on being a ballsy son of a bitch, but he wasn’t ballsy to the point of being stupid.

  That left Hunter with only one option as far as he could see it.

  Sunday morning he reluctantly confessed, “I’m going to have to use you again, bud.”

  Brock looked at him and didn’t saying anything, but also didn’t indicate displeasure with a grunt or groan or rolled eyes. Hunter hoped that was a good sign.

  “Before you say no, just hear me out.”

  Brock rolled his eyes.

  “They have to think you’re gone. They have to think you’ve left, especially General Coffman. Hell, he thinks you’re coming to dinner tomorrow night. When they notice I’m gone, they’re going to look for you, too. And they have to think you’re gone.”

  Brock pulled down the corners of his mouth, closed his eyes, and nodded a little, as if to indicate, yeah, that made sense.

  “So here’s what I’m thinking. I’ll call the General up and tell him you’re leaving tonight. I wasn’t feeling well all day, and you didn’t want to risk getting sick so you decided it was best to leave because our Monday plans were going to be shot. The General will of course be understanding and will still excuse me from work tomorrow. I was scheduled to be off anyway. Hell, maybe when I don’t show on Tuesday they’ll assume I’m still sick. Even better.”

  “Ok. But, what’s the ‘but’?” Brock responded through the computer.

  “Yeah, the ‘but.’ Well, if we’re going to do this, they need to think you’ve actually left,” Hunter replied and looked down to fidget with his hands. He remained silent and fidgety for a few moments.

  Brock didn’t like where the conversation was headed.

  “Generally, airlines keep records of who boards a plane. They only keep detailed records of who used their tickets, ya know? So really, all you have to do is board the plane.”

  Brock definitely knew where Hunter was headed and groaned.


  “So all you have to do is board it and then have a little freak out or something. You know, a panic attack. Piss yourself. Whatever. Enough of a scene to get them to let you off the plane. The minute you’re deplaned, you could just roll off and that’s it. There will be so much commotion that they probably won’t remember to remove you from the boarding list. They might not even know which passenger you were if you leave right away. They might not care.”

  Brock considered the scenario. He was already picturing the aggravated passengers and flustered flight attendants, while Hunter continued on.

  “I know it will be embarrassing, and I swear this will be the last time I use you. We’ve come this far, and we need to make sure all the bases are covered, bud. We have to make sure everyone is safe. You included. And I’ll be there at the airport. The only part you’ll have to do by yourself is on the airplane, promise.”

  It was nice to see Hunter sweat over consideration of someone else’s feelings, but he didn’t want to torture him for too long.

  After a pause while he typed, Brock replied, “It’s ok. It means I get to play honey badger again.”

  Hunter looked at Brock and tilted his head. He walked to the monitor attached to Brock’s chair and read the last part of the sentence to make sure he heard it correctly.

  “Honey badger? What in the fuck?” Hunter balled his hand into a fist and knuckle-rapped Brock’s head three times and asked his friend, “Did you just have a seizure or some shit?”

  After he failed to locate and retrieve Dr. Kennerly—as instructed by two scientists who wanted the doctor to report to their lab—a hesitant serviceman knocked on the General’s door.