Veil

by Aaron Overfield

  “Sure,” Ken nodded and got up. “How long til he’s done?”

  “With this part, about two hours. Then a quick wrap up.”

  “Do I even wanna know?”

  “Nope, you probably don’t.”

  Ken chuckled as the two walked down the street toward Ken’s car—which used to be Jin’s.

  If Hunter timed it perfectly, he and Ken should have arrived back at the lab right as Brock stepped out onto a balcony while inside the Veil. He’d be seated on an outdoor section of the hotel’s mezzanine level that overlooked the entry, so Hunter could watch for his cab to arrive. Hunter walked into the lab and turned on the lights. Brock immediately opened his eyes and smiled at his friend. Hunter walked to him, lifted the notebook and pocket watch off the chair, and sat.

  Brock was still smiling and Hunter nodded. Brock closed his eyes.

  Hunter was sitting outside with a notebook on his lap. The same notebook he’d have in the lab with him later.

  “We both know you would’ve been a writer. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be, and I have no idea why you’re not, but I’ll leave that fact in your hands. You would’ve been a writer, and you could still be a writer. Period. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

  Hunter sat on the hotel’s balcony and went back and forth between writing down the exact timeline of the day’s events and staring up at the night’s sky. He sat and enjoyed the breeze and the sound of the fountain from the hotel’s entryway below. He sat and took pleasure in writing, something he usually never did, so his friend could feel the pen in his hand and the notebook beneath. He knew Brock loved to write and he knew what kept him from doing it, but he wasn’t going to press the issue. That was all on Brock. All he could do was give him that feeling, that sensation he otherwise couldn’t experience. He hoped it would sink in with Brock and pull the writer out of him. Hunter knew Brock would sense that hope as he experienced the moment through Veil.

  The cab pulled up in front of the hotel so Hunter closed the notebook, jumped up, and went back inside the hotel. He ran down the stairs from the mezzanine to the lobby, where he exited through the revolving door and hopped inside the backseat of the cab.

  Hunter directed the cab driver to take him to the lab’s address and then leaned his head back on the headrest. He immediately lifted his head up; he was suddenly afraid he might doze off and, in doing so, lose the entire day’s Veil. If he fell asleep, Brock’s Witness would begin to rapidly dissipate and it would lose all the vibrations caused by the events of the day—vibrations that represented every single second of their day together.

  To keep himself awake, Hunter decided to spend the last ten minutes or so thinking to Brock. He told his friend he hoped overall the experience was a good one, and that he tried his best to do things he knew Brock would enjoy. He tried to do things Brock would do if he were able.

  Hunter tried to be clear. That wasn’t meant to be an insult and it wasn’t him pitying Brock. It was meant as an acknowledgement of the fact that, because of the accident, there were some things Brock simply could not physically do unassisted. Hunter told his friend that he knew he’d understand what he meant but he did want to be perfectly clear: Brock had all the ability to do whatever the hell he wanted. His limitations were just that … limitations.

  So don’t ever be a punk, was the last thing he thought to his friend before he paid the driver, got out of the cab and walked back into the lab, a little shy of twelve hours after having Brock’s Witness uploaded onto him.

  The Veil around Brock’s neck beeped and the silicone sheet retracted into the base. Brock opened his eyes and looked at Hunter. He smiled. Hunter smiled back. Brock grunted repeatedly and looked out of the corner of his eye toward his wheelchair that was positioned next to the bed and opposite Hunter.

  Knowing what he wanted, Hunter went to Brock’s chair and detached the device Brock wore on his head to control his computer. He pulled it to where Brock was laying and placed it on his head. It took Brock a moment to get reoriented and control the computer with his brainwaves again until the voice from the chair’s computer eventually spoke one absurdly bromantic line.

  “For fuck’s sake dude, next time can we skip to the end, where the cornhusk meets the whispering eye?”

  When Ken walked back into the lab, the two men were laughing so hard they had tears coming out of their eyes and Hunter was gasping for air.

  11

  ANIMUS

  “What in the Sam Hill do you mean he’s been missing for eight days?”

  “Sir, I was directed by Dr. Schaffer and Dr. Pollock to retrieve Dr. Kennerly from his quarters and have him report directly to the lab. Dr. Kennerly was not in his quarters. From what I could ascertain, all or most of his belongings are still in his quarters. I conferred with security who informed me the last contact with Dr. Kennerly was exactly eight days ago, Sunday at approximately o-six-hundred, sir. When I relayed this information to doctors Schaffer and Pollock, they directed me to report to you, sir.”

  “They did, huh?” the General asked rhetorically. “Fucking spineless whitecoat weasels,” he started as he got up from his desk and walked to the door. “Not a set of real balls between the those two jellyholes.” As he walked by the serviceman he barked, “Dismissed, goddamnit.”

  “Sir!” he exclaimed back and turned to follow the General out of the office. The General continued a stream of insults and invectives about the two lab doctors.

  “Eight fucking days, eight days. No one hears from our main guy working on one of our most crucial projects for eight damn days and no one fucking says anything to me? Someone could’ve…”

  The General turned down the long corridor that led from the administrative offices to the research facility. His black Oxfords clicked against the linoleum authoritatively and with purpose. Although the serviceman should have headed in the same direction as the General to get back to his post, he kept walking straight ahead; he decided to take the long route back.

  His pulse slowed back to normal as the General’s rant faded in the other direction, “…done something to him, found out about the project. Shitballs, ol’ boy could’ve been in a fucking accident and these two mother…” until the serviceman could no longer hear the General.

  Schaffer and Pollock heard the General’s booming voice grow increasingly louder as he made his approach. They knew how the scene was going to play out; just like they knew sending a grunt to deliver the news was of poor character. However, they agreed it would be better to have the mess play out on their turf rather than in the suffocating confines of General Coffman’s office. At least their way, the General had to come to them.

  “Does someone here want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” the General was already yelling as the lab doors slid open. “What in the merry fuck have you two been doing for the last eight days?” he continued as he stormed directly through the lab toward the conference room. He pushed aside everything in his way, while not giving one single fuck about the equipment, which was easily damaged. Silent the entire time, Schaffer and Pollock took their cue and followed the General into the conference room.

  “How has Hunter been missing for eight days? How about someone tell me that?” he demanded and immediately shoved the large conference table across the room. It vibrated against the floor and its feet produced cringe-worthy clangs until it rattled against the opposite wall. When it impacted, two of its feet rose off the ground and immediately crashed back down.

  While the table was still making its way to its new position, the General threw the chairs to both sides of the room; the chairs rumbled until they collided with the walls. One of them tipped over on its side. Again, the General didn’t give it a single thought or one fuck. Even if he did have a fuck to give, he still wouldn’t have given it; he wouldn’t have given them a fraction of a fuck. The General turned around to face the two doctors, leaned against the table, and folded his arms.

  His message was clear: No matter where we
are, we’re always on my turf.

  “Ummm … ummm well, we were all three … I mean, sir, we were all three off on Monday. Hunter said you approved it because of the test run over the weekend and because Hunter had that friend of his, that Brock guy, in town. Something about taking him into D.C. So we were all three off and out of the lab that day, sir,” Pollock stammered and was already sweating.

  “One. One day,” the General replied and held up an index finger. He kept his hand in the air.

  “Sir,” Schaffer chimed in and tried not to sound as unsure and guilty as Pollock, “on Tuesday, Dr. Pollock and I spent almost the entire day finalizing our summary reports on the test runs over the weekend, which we submitted to you. You reviewed them, sir.”

  “Two,” was the General’s only response. His hand was holding up two fingers.

  “On Wednesday … Wednesday, sir, we were expecting to be debriefed by you about the Veil results. But when we didn’t hear anything from you … when you hadn’t directed us to report to your office by o-nine-hundred, I called to speak with you and was informed by your assistant you were still waiting for a report from Dr. Kennerly in order to conduct debriefing. So—”

  “Thr—” the General started to interrupt and began to lift his third finger.

  Despite the General’s interruption, Schaffer continued, “—after waiting until approximately thirteen-hundred, after Pollock and I returned from lunch, I sent Hunter a message asking him where he was and why he hadn’t reported to the lab yet.”

  The General stopped and lowered his arm.

  “You sent him what message?”

  It took almost the entire day Wednesday for everyone to recover from the Veil. That was, everyone except Suren. Hunter was awake for over twenty-four hours straight, and that was on the heels of being wired and barely able to sleep for days upon days. He knew the remainder of the week would be hell, so he didn’t mind taking some time to sink into oblivion. Although not physically tired, Brock found the after-effects of his Veil to be taxing to say the least.

  Hunter and Brock camped out at the lab; Ken and Suren wound up back at the Tsay house.

  Suren craned her neck around and asked, “Was it really that intense?”

  She was lounging in the oversized chair, with both legs over one of its arms and her back leaning against the other. She was flipping through the channels, not really interested in watching anything but not entirely sure what else to do with herself.

  Ken was splayed out on the couch on the other side of the room. “It seemed pretty earth-shattering for them both,” he replied. “And I’m not particularly prone to hyperbole. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I mean, I realize not every Veil is going to be that intense, unless people choose to experience it in realtime like the two of them. You know, like time passing minute to minute exactly like it did for the other person. But still, my view of Veil has definitely shifted. I think it can be a beautiful thing. An incredibly beautiful, powerful thing.”

  “Meaning you’d do it yourself now?”

  “No, no,” he puffed. “Don’t go all crazy. I simply think it can have some benefits. It really got my mind going about how this could change things. How it could change people. Society, even.”

  “Hopefully, for the better,” she added.

  “Yeah, hopefully for the better,” he agreed.

  “Why didn’t they come stay here? We have more than enough room.”

  “Hunter didn’t want to risk it, and I think Brock didn’t want to impose. It made sense, though. Coming here could be risky. What if we’re being watched? What if they’ve been watching us this entire time? We can’t be sure. If they did notice Hunter is missing and got suspicious … well, he was right, this is one of the first places they could come look.”

  “True. I’ll take them some food in a little while. Brock seems really nice. That Hunter character is a bit off, to be honest. I didn’t spend much time with him and I still couldn’t believe some of the stuff that came out of his mouth.”

  “I know. I think I saw a different side when he came back to the lab and completed the Veil with Brock. There’s a lot going on inside him, besides just intelligence,” Ken assured her.

  “How can someone so intelligent and successful be so … ummm … ummm—” she searched for the right word.

  “Unstable?” Ken finished for her.

  “Yes! Exactly! Unstable. How can he be so unstable?”

  “No idea. Apparently he’s one of those tortured souls or something. And a bit twisted. All in all, I think I—I think we can trust him, but we should also take a lot of stuff with a grain of salt.”

  “Or with a shaker of salt. And, when in his presence, suspend any tendency to be offended by anything, ever,” she added.

  “Yeah. That too,” Ken admitted.

  Half asleep, the vibration startled Hunter. It was his cellphone. He was waiting for that moment. He wasn’t stupid; he knew he could be traced by triangulation of his phone, so he took some extra steps to make it a lot harder for anyone to track him. Every little thing would help get them to Saturday. Once Saturday happened, they were smooth sailing. So, he had to make sure they made it that long.

  He downloaded one of those free internet-based voicemail and texting applications onto his phone. With it, he obtained a texting and voicemail phone number and then contacted his cellphone carrier to have all his calls and messages forwarded to it. He took an extra step and hacked into his phone; he set it to use a proxy server when it accessed all data streams and the internet. He made it look like he accessed voicemails and/or texts from Russia—if anyone had time to trace things that far.

  The vibration was set off by a text message from Schaffer: Why aren’t you in the lab dude?

  For Hunter, that was a very good sign: if they were trying to locate him by using his cellphone, they would’ve called first, not simply sent a text. If they called, even if he hadn’t picked up, they could try to triangulate his position using the cellphone towers that his phone accessed to receive the call. Well, he smirked, at least that would’ve been the case if he hadn’t forwarded his number to an internet-based service. The fact Schaffer sent a text message meant he was only checking up on him, probably just wondering where he was. It probably meant no one talked to the General about him yet.

  Hunter was already prepared with the most effective reply and used another program on his phone to make his message look like it came from his original number.

  Hunter sent back: Sick. Already talked to Coffman.

  He knew that was an airtight response because he actually talked to the General on Sunday so if the General happened to ask, or if Schaffer went to him, the General would confirm it. Sure, he didn’t say when he talked to the General, or if he told the General he’d be off through Wednesday as well. If it came up, the most the General would think was Hunter might still be sick. Nothing suspicious there.

  In less than a minute, Hunter’s phone vibrated again with a response: Sorry to hear. Feel better man. Get your summary report sent in ASAP.

  Hunter didn’t bother to reply. Hell, that probably made him seem sicker. So sick he didn’t have the energy or courtesy to text back. The brief exchange provided Hunter a basis to reevaluate their timeframe. Until he received the text from Schaffer, he was working from his gut alone. His gut and some hopeful optimism, which wasn’t one of his usual characteristics. After Schaffer’s text, he figured they had until at least Friday.

  Schaffer was probably only somewhat curious about his whereabouts, or he would’ve said “the General is looking for you” or something Schafferly ominous like that. So come Thursday, if the General or anyone else said anything about Hunter’s absence, the consensus would be that he was sick earlier in the week so it must’ve been pretty serious and he was probably still sick. The General would likely make a mental note to talk to Hunter about proper protocols whenever he was too ill to report for duty. He’d probably give the kid a break; he was a civvy after all.


  Hunter opened the case for his phone, took out the battery and removed the SIM card from underneath. He broke the SIM card in half and threw the phone, battery, and broken SIM in the trash. He booted up his computer and wrote an email. As he closed the laptop, he heard the familiar ding from his email program. He already received a reply.

  “Monday!” the General shouted. “Fucking Monday! He was sick Monday! Not Tuesday, not Wednesday, not Thursday and sure as hell not all the way through until today. How the fuck did we get all the way until today? Without a word? Explain that! Jesus fucking Christ!”

  “Well, sir,” Schaffer continued, “since Hunter reported he was ill and stated he informed you of it, I didn’t think it was my position to question him.” He knew ego stroking would really get him nowhere in the situation, but it also couldn’t hurt. “I simply told him to get his summary report in as soon as possible and, come Thursday, Dr. Pollock and I decided to map out the next test run of Veil. We wanted to mix up the parameters and variables in order to beef up our overall summary for you. Since we already finished our individual summary reports and were waiting on Dr. Kennerly’s, we figured we could conduct another test run to add into our reports, even if Dr. Kennerly wasn’t involved. When he didn’t show up on Thursday and didn’t respond to my message that day, I figured he was still ill. So … well, Doctor Pollock and I went ahead and started the third test run that we worked out. We spent Thursday scheduling the subjects and prepping for Friday. Friday was spent performing the test run and, well … ummm…”

  “And well? And well what?”