Uhhh, it’s the government.
However, Jin’s mind was made and Ken knew he should have seen it coming. Ken should have intentionally bombed the presentation to the military. Jin wasn’t concerned with some future possibility regarding what the military might or might not do. Jin was concerned with continuing their research, supporting himself and his wife, starting a family and building a legacy. If it meant no longer working as a team, Jin still wanted the contract and wouldn’t hesitate to sign it. Jin wouldn’t hesitate for a second.
So, he didn’t.
“Looks like Jin found himself a universal Malkovich door,” Ken mused at his laptop.
The screen displayed documents inside a folder marked “VEIL,” copied from the Tsay’s home computer. They were documents filled with information Suren didn’t understand. All Ken needed to do was give a few of them a cursory scan, and he got the main idea. He glanced over his laptop at Suren, whose expression hadn’t changed.
“Being John Malkovich, the movie, you know?”
Suren shook her head.
“I swear you two never saw any good movies. It’s about this door they find that allows people to be John … ugh, never mind, there’s no way I can explain it. Anyway, to say Jin had been busy would be an understatement. I didn’t even know he named the project ‘Veil.’ The last time I talked to him about The Witness all he told me was he made remarkable progress in understanding how the information it retained could be accessed. That’s all he would tell me. Or, at least all he could tell me. Top-secret, classified, yadda yadda yadda.” Ken flicked his hand dismissively. “He seemed excited, though. He seemed so excited. I was excited for him. The only thing I’d ever seen him that worked up about was you.”
Suren stared at him with a mixture of grief and nostalgia. At times, it appeared she didn’t stare at him but in his direction and through him. Ken remembered why they were there and reminded himself why Suren called him in the first place. The meeting was about what happened to Jin, not about Jin’s research or his project … no matter how interesting or promising of a project Veil proved to be.
Ken had seen all three videos by then: the first of the unknown man taking the elevator to the 13th floor; the second of Jin tripping as he stepped off the elevator, followed by a blast of blood and gelatinous substances splattering back inside; the third of the unknown man leaving hours later. What became of Jin, or Jin’s remains, was still a mystery. Added to the pile of all the other mysteries.
The only visible clues in the second video were: Jin tripping, the blast, and several minutes later some movement that appeared to be the unknown man shifting around a sheet of plastic. The man’s feet and the plastic soon left the view of the camera, after which the elevator closed and departed from the 13th floor. It went straight to the lobby, and it wasn’t long until hospital personnel, onlookers, and finally police swarmed the elevator.
According to Suren, there was no luck to be had with the authorities, the people listed on Jin’s military contract, or with hospital administrators. Suren told Ken how she didn’t think to check the computer at home until three days after Jin disappeared. She was so distraught, and Jin seldom used the home computer. She explained how no one took her seriously when she returned and claimed to have a video of Jin’s murder on the 13th floor of the hospital, since by then she already spoke to several people and caused quite a few scenes.
“I know I shouldn’t have been going on and on about the 13th floor. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. Especially the people at the hospital. They had me escorted out of the building! The hospital didn’t have Jin’s name listed in the personnel files. He wasn’t even listed, Ken! I must’ve looked so crazy.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. Clearly, whatever Jin was working on was highly classified. I can’t say I understand why they had him set up the way they did, all alone and not only classified but in total secrecy.”
“I never, never thought he was in danger,” she carried on defensively and talked as much to herself as she did to Ken. “It never crossed my mind. I would've never let him. I knew he was working on secret stuff but never danger. Never danger. I would've never let him—”
“Jin would've never let you stop him,” Ken interrupted to defuse her budding self-blame. “No one could’ve known. No one. The only thing I can think, and I hate to say it, and I know how it sounds Suren, but the only thing I can think is that none of this was by accident. Not how isolated he was kept, not how invisible his whole operation was made, not how he just got … how he disappeared.”
They stared off in different directions while they let the logic of it all come together and paint a clearer picture of not only what happened to Jin, but why.
“To be honest,” he finally resumed, “it’s probably a good thing you didn’t get anywhere with anyone. That could’ve made you a target, Suren. Who knows? It really could have. Look at what they’re capable of.”
“I know, Ken. I never saw any danger. And I don’t think my Jin did either. You know him, Ken. You … you knew him. People looking at him got him all nervous. If he thought he was in any kind of danger, or if I was in any kind of danger, he would’ve been a mess. He would’ve been a total wreck. Me in danger? Me?” She took a gasp that sounded like a mixture of grief and a sudden realization of vulnerability, as though she just realized her knight was gone and, therefore, so was her protector. She continued in a considerably softer tone. “Jin would've never left my side if he thought that for one second. If he thought I was in danger. Ever.” She finished in a whisper, and she lowered her head and shook it. Heavy tears flowed down her cheeks and were soaked up when they dripped onto her black skirt.
Ken put his hand on Suren’s knee and whispered back to her, “He would’ve camped on top of you, Suren. Jin wouldn’t have left your side until you got sick of it and told him to go the hell away for a minute. He would’ve dug a moat around you.”
Suren laughed through her tears and put a hand over her mouth. She put the other on top of Ken’s, which was still on her knee.
They bowed their heads and remembered Jin.
Both remembered how deeply Jin loved his Suren.
Ken knew Suren’s pain, and he knew she was right.
Ken also knew his old friend quite well. Probably better than anyone other than Suren.
Ken was sure that in Jin’s mind, he was merely a geeky scientist working on a really neat project, which he hoped would one day have some nifty results. It was how Jin thought about things. It was all Jin ever wanted. That was it. That, and his Suren.
Jin simply focused on his work and how far his research brought his theories. So, he wasn’t aware of the pack of wolves who encircled his lab and waited to pounce the second they no longer needed him; ones who sat in wait for the very second his project became not only a theory but also a reality—a device. Wolves who wanted Veil for themselves and wanted to keep Veil to themselves. Wolves who planned to keep Veil the way they kept Jin: subdued and top-secret.
Ken had a pretty darn good idea who the wolves were, and he wasn’t about to let himself or Suren appear on their radar by continuing to force the issue of Jin’s disappearance. The videos showed well enough what happened to Jin. It was the harsh truth of what became possible the second Jin signed his name on a government contract.
The questions then became: What can Veil do? What do the wolves intend to do with it?
Schaffer was annoyed, which said about as much as saying Andrew Dice Clay was angry.
It was one thing to sit there while he was degraded and belittled by General Coffman, who was only so angered because he was too stupid or stubborn to understand the simplest of theories. It was entirely another thing to have no say in being teamed up with Pollock. Ugh, Pollock. He loathed Pollock, who he also found to be so slow and dense that a totally politically incorrect, but seemingly appropriate, pronunciation of Pollock’s last name became a private joke for Schaffer: Polack. True, it was phonetically different and a totally w
rong pronunciation, but it worked well enough for him.
Eh, who gives a frak? Maybe the Poles don’t find it offensive anymore.
Schaffer despised the very presence of Pollock. Ugh, Pollock, who swore relation to Jackson Pollock and bragged about it every time he met someone even mildly interested. Schaffer waited for the opportune time to tell him how he thought Jackson Pollock made shit for art. Utterly deranged, alcoholic, absolute shit. Schaffer was certain he would find the opportune time.
The only thing about the entire situation that perhaps annoyed Schaffer more than Pollock was how he adopted the military’s asinine tendency to refer to everyone by their last name. It was like being in the friggen Boy Scouts again. Ok, no—it was annoying as frak, but it wasn’t more annoying than Pollock.
Still, all Dr. Carl Schaffer wanted—besides being referred to as ‘Dr. Schaffer,’ or even ‘Dr. Carl,’ or simply friggen ‘Doctor’—was to build something. Until he got his hands on Jin Tsay’s work, he didn’t care what he built. He would’ve been content building friggen Erector Sets.
Now all Carl Schaffer wanted to do was build Veil.
So, he tried.
“What’s the plan?” Pollock asked and quickened his step to catch up with Schaffer. The two men were on their way back to the lab after their second briefing with General Coffman.
The meeting went considerably better than the first. Since he knew the General required visualization to understand damn near anything, Schaffer brought in a few pieces of equipment, which they built using Dr. Tsay’s schematics. With those in hand, Schaffer proceeded to explain Dr. Tsay’s process and how the military could utilize it. Schaffer also explained how the Veil hardware specifications, as Dr. Tsay designed them, would not suffice for the military’s needs. Simply put, Dr. Tsay’s design wasn’t efficiently small and portable enough for their purposes. The General seemed to understand that part of Schaffer’s presentation.
Ironically enough, but not surprisingly, Pollock did not.
“What do you mean?” Schaffer asked.
“What do we do now?” Pollock rephrased.
“We do exactly what I said in there,” Schaffer replied. He thumbed over his shoulder toward the General’s office. He made no attempt to mask his contempt for friggen Pollock.
“Yeah, I know.” Pollock tried to save face. “But you told the General we could make Veil portable and remotely deployable. We’ve both used Tsay’s version of Veil. We both know how much machinery it takes to do what Tsay made possible. That crap took up like a whole room, dude. Do you really think we can make it portable and remotely deployable?”
Schaffer responded smugly, “Think about how large computers were when they were invented. Now look at the phone in your pocket, dude. It can do more than computers two years ago could. What do you think, dude?”
“I think you better have a phone-sized Veil up your sleeve, Carl,” Pollock smirked.
“I do,” Schaffer grinned and inserted his card into the lab door, which slid open with a hiss. They entered their lab; it was a military lab that made Jin Tsay’s look like a high school science classroom. After the two men entered, the doors slid closed behind them and sealed. Schaffer immediately turned to the right and said, “Catch ya later, Polack,” as he walked to his office in the lab and closed his door without another word. He knew Pollock hated being called that. He knew Pollock hated it when he closed himself in his office. He smiled. Schaffer loved to make Pollock hate things.
Luke Pollock, who was frozen in the place where he stopped after Schaffer called him that name, shouted across the lab.
“You know that’s not how my name is pronounced!”
Schaffer leaned back in his chair, propped his feet up on the windowsill behind his desk, and worried. Problem was, Pollock was right: Schaffer didn’t have a phone-sized Veil up his sleeve. It took him almost two months to get through Dr. Tsay’s research and principles to understand how to operate the machines in Tsay’s lab. It wasn’t like sitting down at a computer and intuitively figuring out a new program.
Programs ran on platforms that all used similar, if not identical, language, so it was never hard to figure out how programmers got from point A to point B, without so much as Schaffer picking up a manual. A girlfriend once told him that his mind must work like a computer, because talking to him was like using the internet. Schaffer always prided himself on figuring things out using logic and intuition alone, especially anything and everything technological.
Not Veil, though. While he could follow the formulas and see how Tsay’s work developed, he had to read and digest every single page of notes. Frak, just to see how it all came together, he had to reach as far back as Tsay’s college dissertation. Tsay performed a test run—a successful test run, at that—but there was no development report and, to Schaffer’s dismay, no manual.
The problem was everything started with the brain and how the brain worked, how its friggen weird ass brand of electricity worked. Schaffer didn’t have time to become a frakking brain electricity expert. Instead, he focused on what he did know: the formulas, mechanics, and technology. What he did know about Veil only allowed him to accomplish one thing, and it wasn’t much of an accomplishment. All he accomplished was learning Tsay’s lab well enough to understand how to use Tsay’s equipment.
In the General’s words, woopty-goddamn-doo!
Tsay’s lab consisted mainly of two single-crank examining beds positioned side-by-side, each with electrode-covered helmets attached to the head. Wires ran between the two helmets and then from each helmet to two massive mainframes on opposite sides of the beds. Tsay’s setup filled an 800 square foot space. After Tsay’s unfortunate disappearance, the military seized full control of one of the hospital elevators and allowed the two scientists unfettered access to Tsay’s lab and documents.
Schaffer and Pollock were able to learn Tsay’s operation in the first two months and by the third each conducted their own Veil test run. In the first run, Schaffer—using another of Tsay’s terms—“shadowed” a subject for four hours and in the second Pollock shadowed the subject from the beginning of a wake cycle all the way through to the end of the day, nearly sixteen hours total.
After they acquired every bit of information they could from Tsay’s lab and completed their development reports, the lab was dismantled and the equipment destroyed. There was no practical reason to remove all Tsay’s equipment, only to reassemble it in their lab on base. Not when they could recreate the setup themselves using newer, more advanced equipment. Besides, Schaffer believed he didn’t fully understand a design if he couldn’t build it himself.
Armed with Tsay’s data and their combined development reports, when they entered the General’s office the first time a couple of days earlier, Schaffer and Pollock were proud of what they accomplished. The General was actually right about that: the two whitecoats were quite proud. Equally proud.
Schaffer felt fundamentally changed by the experience of Veil, by the experience of “shadowing” someone. The experience brought Schaffer to the brink of obsession when it came to working on Veil. It took everything in him not to include a personal account of his test run in the development report. The information and language alone wouldn’t have been appropriate for a scientific document, and he realized his personal account was irrelevant to the military anyway.
Schaffer already knew how the military intended to utilize Veil, and that utilization didn’t have anything to do with consciousness, psychology, or existentialism. On the other hand, Pollock’s experience of shadowing the subject was more in line with how the military planned to use Veil. Pollock described his experience as though he were inside an alien virtual-reality video game, where he operated as some kind of secret agent or spy. Leave it to Pollock to act like it was a damn video game.
Frak, Carl Schaffer friggen hated Luke Pollock.
“Espionage” was exactly the word the General wanted to hear, and that was precisely why Schaffer used it so many times.
>
However, that was also what made Schaffer’s follow-up presentation a couple of days after their first meeting so much more frustrating for the General, although it was more well received. At least it was straightforward, clear, and concise. Plus, it was in the General’s language. The General appreciated all of that, so the frustrating bad news was taken a little softer. Schaffer tried to follow the bad news with some good news, which was possibly also an exaggeration, but at least it was good news.
To lead up to the bad news, Schaffer provided an explanation of Veil that was more in line with what the General sought. He listed precisely what details about a subject the military could expect to obtain through Veil. Schaffer outlined all those juicy, crucial tidbits the military could extract from a subject’s mind when they used Veil. Schaffer told the General that, yup, they were definitely talking straight-up espionage. It was pretty much the epitome of espionage. Things couldn’t get more espionage-ish than Veil. His last little zinger made the General clap once and shout, Hot damn!
Schaffer then delivered the bad news: as initially designed by Dr. Tsay, the Veil technology could not be used as some kind of clandestine spying machine. The way Tsay left things, Veil wasn’t so much a device as it was one big, huge ass, giant, massive machine. It would require the government to have enough access to a subject to hook them up to Veil and upload the Witness who’d be shadowing them. Then, they’d need to be released and returned to their normal life, only to be brought back before their next sleep cycle, in order to be reattached to Veil.
At that point, The Witness who was shadowing the subject could be extracted and returned to its owner. Only then could the owner of The Witness that performed the shadowing provide the military with the information they sought. Confusing, I know, Schaffer acknowledged when he could tell the General no longer understood what he was saying. It wasn’t really that confusing, though. Only if someone was a friggen idiot.
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