“Abigail,” Suren called out.
“Ummm … yes, Widow Tsay. Ma—ma’am?” she replied quietly and stopped walking, but did not turn to face Suren.
“One more thing. Come here, young girl. Come around over here,” Suren demanded and motioned to her side of the counter as Abigail turned and looked at her.
Reluctantly, Abigail complied. She circled around the counter to the swinging door on the other side. She pushed through the door and inched across the store to the universally respected and admired woman, who just shamed her minutes earlier.
Suren didn’t move her body at all, so Abigail was forced to walk around and stand in front of her. There were tears in Abigail’s eyes.
“Turn around, young lady,” Suren directed her.
Abigail again complied and stuttered, “Oh … ok … but he should be here any moment. I’m sure he can help you with whatever.”
“Shhh … it will only take a second,” Suren soothed the crying girl as she removed a small device from her purse. She pressed a button on the device and out popped a key-shaped piece attached to a glowing blue cable.
Abigail could feel the pressure as Suren inserted the key into her vPort. The sensation was different than when someone cabled-in or when she connected herself to a host.
“What—what is that?” Abigail asked but was ignored.
When it was connected, the device in Suren’s hand beeped and glowed with the same blue aura as the cable. She pressed a sequence of buttons on it and after another single beep, the device indicated to Suren that whoever was shadowing Abigail at the time just had the neuroelectricity of their Witness neutralized. Later, when The Witnesses shadowing her were uploaded back onto their owners, they wouldn’t transmit any information; there would be no record of Suren’s presence in the store, save for the girl’s memory.
“A little safety measure. For my own peace of mind,” she assured. “But I’m all done.” Suren removed the key from Abigail’s port, pressed a button to retract the cable and dropped the device back in her purse. “Go now. Go,” she dismissed Abigail with a careless wave of her hand. She then gracefully put on her hat.
Abigail unconsciously rubbed the base of her neck, where her vPort was installed, as she hurried around the counter and through the doorway in the back of the store. While Abigail was in the dark room in back, the front door opened. A man stood in the entrance and eyed Suren before he walked in and closed it behind him. He was a short, balding man who wore house slippers and a long, dingy robe over a white V-neck and pajama bottoms. Already annoyed, he sauntered over to Suren and greeted her. At the same time, Abigail reentered the store from the back, with her belongings cradled in a pile in her arms; she didn’t take the time to put on her coat.
Abigail rushed along the wall on the opposite side of the store from where Suren and the owner were positioned. She flung open the swinging door at the end of the counter, crossed the store and, bolted out the front door after running by Suren while crying, “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.”
They listened as Abigail’s shoes clicked against the stairs, until she reached the empty street, where the clicking hastened and faded into the night.
“Ehhh,” the storeowner muttered and dismissively waved his hand at the door. He assumed Abigail had been speaking to him. “She probably can’t wait to get cabled-in and get her Velebrity fix for the night. You know most of these kids do it in realtime now?” he looked at Suren and wagged his finger at the door. “Can you believe that? Realtime. Imagine how much of their lives they’re wasting. Myself, I prefer sleep. Some good old-fashioned television, what’s barely left of it anyway, and then some sleep. Ehhh,” he muttered again and faced Suren. “So, what can I help you with, Ms … ummm … sorry, Abby didn’t tell me your name.”
“Turn around,” Suren ordered.
“Uhhh … uhhh, excuse me?”
“Turn around,” she repeated.
The man eyed the store over Suren’s shoulder for a moment and then rephrased. “Excuse me, what are you talking about?” He squinted at Suren, whose face was mostly obstructed by her large hat. “Do I know you?”
“Turn around. Show me your vPort.”
“Ehhh, o—oh ok,” he muttered and turned his head enough for Suren to see his vPort, but without turning his body away from her.
After she scrutinized the indicators on his vPort’s display to verify he wasn’t being shadowed and wasn’t shadowing anyone, she puffed out a sneer.
He detected her derision and turned his head back to face her. He raised his eyebrows and waited for his answer.
Once again Suren removed her hat. Once again the act was met with a gasp of immediate recognition.
She announced herself, “I am the Great Widow Tsay. I’ve come for the memory you’re selling of my husband’s murder.”
“Ummm … ummm,” he stuttered. “I—I don’t know what you think I—”
She put up her hand. “I didn’t ask for your input. I want the memory you bought from my husband’s murderer. I want it now.” With the other hand, she lifted her Veil Collar off of her lap and held it up. “You need to go fetch me a vTech adapter.”
“You have to understand,” he began as he fidgeted with the adapter. He was trying to affix it to the end of the vCable, which spooled from the counter. He hadn’t attached one of those damn things, he’d wager, in at least five years. “This is a business. I’m a licensed businessman. It’s nothing personal and, of course, I’ll waive the fee for you, which is significant considering … well, considering the price. And, I’m not doing anything illegal. My company is completely legit. I’m licensed and all my vHosts are registered,” he proclaimed as he pointed to a wall next to the front door, where he displayed his compulsory Veil Industry license and registration.
“We both know selling memories of death, including murder, is against regulations. But I’m curious, how much did you pay for the memories of my husband’s murder?” she asked coldly.
“Well … well … uhhh.” He struggled with every word. He had to be sensitive and concise. He couldn’t believe the Widow Tsay was in his establishment. Alone. Just the two of them. Him and the Great Widow Tsay. Maybe he could get a picture and autograph to display in the store. “It’s not like that, you see. I mean, it is, we do sometimes outright buy memories or experiences in certain circumstances, but mainly we try to trade. I like to see my business as a bartering system. You know, a community. We try to be honorable.”
She cackled and shot him an unamused look. She allowed him to ramble on. For the time being.
“I’m a businessman, though, you know. I have to make a living. And the gentleman who contacted me to sell this particular … memory, well, yes he did request payment in cash. He wasn’t interested in trading or bartering. He wanted cash. And to remain anonymous. Those were his two terms.”
“How much money did the snake demand?”
“Ummm … ummm … well, one million. Five hundred thousand before the transfer of the memory and five hundred thousand immediately after the transfer. Wired to him.”
“And how much did you actually pay him?”
“He wouldn’t budge. It was one million or he’d go somewhere else. I paid one million. I couldn’t let him go anywhere else. And he came to me first, he knew I was—well, I am the best. In the industry. Mind you, this was before the industry was regulated. This was, well, back when my kind of business was completely underground.”
“You mean illegal,” she sneered.
“Well, yes. Yes, in a way. But regardless, the seller … well, he was just … you know, cashing in on it. On the memory.”
“Cashing in on it,” she jeered. “Yes. Cashing in on it.”
“Well, like I said, it’s a business. There’s a demand and I meet it. Like any other business. It’s nothing personal Ms—Widow Tsay.”
“Nothing personal,” she jeered him again. “Right. Do not let my name cross your lips again, little man. You have no right. No right to sp
eak the Tsay name.”
There goes the picture and autograph.
“Everyone. Everyone in the world holds your husband in such high esteem. He was … no, he is the most famous man in the world. For you to be sitting here in my store. I—I can’t even begin—”
“High esteem?” she stopped him. “Yes, oh yes, I can tell how highly in esteem he’s held. Oh, clearly I can see,” she tapped on the monitor. “So tell me, exactly how many people have you sold this memory to? How many people held my husband in such high esteem that they decided they simply couldn’t live without sharing in the experience of his murder, straight from the man who murdered him? The man who murdered my husband. How many people?”
“Actually very few,” he assuaged her as he finally snapped the adapter into place and set it on the counter. He checked the screen behind the counter just to verify before he continued. “You’ll be happy to know, it looks like only three people wanted and could afford the memory. So, unless the man, your—your husband’s killer—sold the memory to another company, which is entirely possible, certainly possible, then only four people besides him possess the memory. The three who purchased it and the Vault. You know, the person who stores the memory. The person who holds onto the memory for me and who my customers shadow in order to obtain it.”
“And how much did you charge these—people,” there was the disgust again, “for the experience? What was it worth?”
“Five hundred thousand. No trading or bartering.”
“I see. So four people total? Four.”
“Yes, ma’am. And the owner, th—the killer, you know.”
“Yes, I know. So what’s to keep people from selling a memory they’ve purchased from you? How do you know the three people who’ve bought the memory from you aren’t out there selling it to other people?”
“Oh!” he laughed. “Oh, no. It’s hard enough getting people to buy my second-generation memories. Those are degraded as it is. I mean, they’re powerful enough to really experience the—the experience, but once you go beyond that, once you go beyond a second-generation memory to say a third or even a fourth? Forget it. It’s not worth it. What you’re left with is barely a ghost; it’s like a dream of a memory. You just can’t hold it. You can barely hold on to it for the length of a thought. So no, none of my customers would be able to sell the memories or the experiences they’ve bought from me, from my company, to anyone else. Once the person shadows the Vault, the memory they obtain is worthless to everyone except them—except to the shadower, the customer.”
“And this Vault. This repository. This person. The one who stores the memory of my husband’s murder for you. How do you know they aren’t selling it off behind your back to the highest bidders? A little Veil embezzlement, if you will.”
“Oh no no no,” he waved his hand. “Regulation solved all that. It was mandated. The Vaults have to provide their employers with their VSNs so we can track all their Veils. By working for us, they give up their Veil privileges. They each sign a contract prohibiting them from entering into any Veil outside of the employment relationship. All I have to do is look up their Veil Security Number and I can verify for myself. Simple.”
“Simple. I see. Perhaps as simple as the language in the Right To Veil bill that absolutely forbids any selling of death experiences? Not only out of dignity for the dead but because of the risks involved. Risks to your customers, no less. Is it as simple as that law? I mean, I should know how simple the language in that bill is, since I helped write it.”
“I guess I—I,” he stammered. “I guess after regulation began, and all that, it must’ve slipped through the cracks. I guess I forgot to remove it from my inventory. Mistakes happen, you know? We’re all still learning,” he explained and offered up a half-assed, nervous smile.
“I see. Convenient. Ok. Well, are we ready now?”
“Oh,” he uttered. “I forgot. Yeah, we’re ready. All I need is your VSN and then to cable into your vCollar. I’ve never seen one like yours. I can understand why you have such a special customized one. I’m sure it’s seen its fair share of Veiling.”
“I’ve never used it. And my VSN is three.”
“Three?”
“Three.”
“Ummm … well, ma’am, VSNs, I mean, as you know, they all contain twelve digits. I can’t only enter in a three. That won’t—”
“Eleven zeros followed by the number three.”
“Oh, of course. Yes. Ok,” he said as he punched in the numbers on the screen. “Makes sense. I’ve never seen a VSN like this. Wonder who has ‘one’ and ‘two’,” he asked rhetorically.
“Friends,” she answered flatly.
“Of course, of course. Ehhh, ok now we wait for a response from the Vault. They’ll send an approximate time for them to be able to network-in through the nearest host and complete the transfer. Man, you’re lucky, it used to be, back before there were vHosts nearly everywhere, sometimes the Vault couldn’t network-in for hours. The customer would have to come back.”
“Yes, how lucky of me. It’s late, what if this Vault is asleep?”
“Oh, their vPort can recognize that and will send back a signal if they’re networked-in while they’re asleep. If they aren’t networked-in, I can call them. Most Vaults give us permission to wake them anytime, especially ones who are Vaulting numerous memories or very significant ones.”
“How convenient for you,” she replied and rolled her eyes.
“Oh yes, yes. Ehhh. Very convenient,” he mused after failing to detect her sarcasm. The console in front of him beeped, and he blurted, “Oh! The Vault is available now, they will cable into a vHost within minutes and we can start the Veil.”
“Good, I’m no fan of waiting. Especially in this place, with the likes of you.” The disgust rightfully felt more natural to her and she decided she should have worn red to the store. Red would’ve been more appropriate.
Ignoring her insult, he carried on, “Right, well I can cable into your vCollar now, and we can start the transfer, if you’re ready.”
She handed over her Veil and he plugged in the adapter that he attached to the cable coming from the counter. He then punched in the key that he was provided by the Vault’s vPort, which was generated using Suren’s VSN. After he entered the key, the security indicators on both the vCollar and vHost changed from red to green.
The storeowner returned Suren’s vCollar. She pushed the button on the display to instruct the device to prepare for a secure incoming connection. It beeped back at her. For the first time since she was fitted for it nearly eleven years ago, Suren Tsay put on her vCollar. She pulled all her hair over to one side and draped it over her shoulder. With both hands, she brought the collar up over her head and lowered it until it rested on the nape of her neck. The platinum was cold against her skin and it gave her a shudder. She let go of the device and it stayed in place; it fit tightly around her neck and was supported by the arms that extended up over her ears. It fit her as snugly as it did the day of the fitting.
“Man, I haven’t seen one of those in so long. You know, I think I actually prefer them to these vPorts,” he said and thoughtlessly tapped on his port a couple of times. “They’re so much classier. Old school style, you know?”
She shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes. Before she had to bear listening to him speak any more and before they were subjected to uncomfortable silence, the vHost beeped once and right afterwards she heard her collar beep as well.
“Here it goes,” he told her.
Suren braced herself. She wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. She was waiting to feel something—anything. A buzz, a sting, the feeling of static electricity, anything. All she felt was a small vibration as the silicone sheet snaked up her scalp and made its way over her hair, until it stopped at her forehead. After a few moments, her collar beeped again, followed shortly by a beep from the vHost. The silicone slithered its way back into the device.
“Ok, there it goes,” he smiled.
>
“That’s it?” she asked.
“Well, I mean, on our end yeah,” he replied, confused.
“Oh.”
“We have to wait for the shadowing of the Vault to take place now, on the other end, you know? Then your Witness will transfer back over.”
“Right. I was expecting to feel something.”
“Do you usually feel anything? I’ve never heard of anyone feeling something when a download takes place. Or an upload, for that matter.”
“Like I said, I’ve never used it before.”
“At all? You’ve never … you’ve never Veiled before?”
“Not that it’s any of your business but no, I’ve never Veiled.”
The man studied her face. Probably to detect if she was lying, or trying to recall her face from newspapers and magazines, to determine if it really was the wife of Jin Tsay sitting in front of him. After all, how could the wife of the “Great Jin Tsay,” the so-called “Father of Veil,” have never used Veil before?
“So what’s happening now?” She broke his concentration. “On the other end?”
“Oh … ehhh … well, two things. On the other end, the Vault is reading through a series of questions that cause them to recall the memory in question, you know? The questions have got these certain images and words that those Veilologists figured out will cause people to remember things, you know? Like in this case, they help to recall a certain memory. But, what’s cool is even if the Vault can’t consciously remember every detail, the questions can still cause the whole entire memory to get triggered.”
“Yes, how cool.”
He ignored her tone again and kept going. “Second, the whole process of transferrin’ the memory to them creates these marker things in the Vault’s brain. Don’t ask me how. But, anyway, during the shadowing, after one of my customers purchases the memory, the Vault’s vPort will detect them marker things when the memory is triggered, which helps their vPort identify and extract the whole entire thing. The markers help Veil know what to amplify, too. To make the memory stronger for the other person, you know? Maybe help remember stuff even the Vault can’t remember. Finally, the memory gets transferred to the customer, through The Witness. In this case, to you. The longer the memory, the longer the wait. It’s all as simple as that, really.”
Veil Page 29