The Jin Experience bill only prohibited the recording, storing, and streaming of neuroelectrical patterns; the bill said nothing about creating artificial neuroelectrical patterns or creating artificial brains. All a Veillusionist had to do was author a set of neuroelectrical patterns in the form of a Veillusion: patterns that could be delivered through a vBrain to tell a story. People could then Veil that vBrain, like they did the one in the Tsay Temple, and the Veillusion would be delivered to them, the same way The Jin Experience was delivered. And … it would all be legal.
Although Yoko’s discovery was legal, the language of The Jin Experience bill was interpreted to mean even artificial neuroelectrical patterns couldn’t be stored or streamed. Therefore, Veillusions had to be created on the fly. Essentially, it was like performing a live musical concert. Veillusionists had to play an artificial brain like a piano to deliver the story to The Witness. Afterwards, when The Witness was uploaded back onto its owner, it would then play their brain like a piano in order to deliver the Veillusion it received.
The most successful Veillusionists became those who could author the most detailed, complicated, and realistic Veillusions. Because everything had to be done live and on the fly, Veillusionists were limited by sheer practicality. They could give only so much detail to the neuroelectrical patterns they authored and only so quickly. They could include only so much depth, like how a musician could only play so many notes.
Soon, some Veillusionists banded together to coordinate richer, more faceted and detailed Veillusions. While one Veillusionist was responsible for writing the signals for feelings, another would write the signals for thoughts; another would be responsible for visual signals; another would be responsible for audial ones. Plus there were all the supporting characters, environmental aspects, and narrative structures to consider as well. Some of the Veillusion Orchestras had upwards of 25 to 30 Veillusionists, each tasked with authoring their assigned element and each bringing their own specialty to the symphony.
Adopting the practice from Old Time Veillusions, in order to generate revenue, vOrchs went as far as letting Veil Advertisers write product placement into their Veillusions. While most Veillusionists—Peyton included—had a gut reaction against that kind of stuff, they knew it was necessary to be profitable, so they yielded—Peyton included. However, for the vAd to seamlessly integrate into the Veillusion, the particular product being placed into the scene or background would have to fit or jive with the main character’s personality or it would stick out a mile. Like every other element, advertised products had to perfectly match the main character’s personality—which in turn actually made the advertisement stronger. The issue was indicative of how every element in the story had to originate from the main character’s point of reference.
Because the stories were delivered through a single artificial brain, there was only room for one protagonist at a time; the story could only be written from one character’s perspective. Veilers couldn’t choose which character within the story they wanted to experience. Not like how they could in the Old Time Veillusions, which were acted out by multiple Veilactors from which Veilers could choose.
That was another of Peyton’s points of contention: being limited to presenting one perspective through one character. Were storage of artificial neuroelectrical patterns allowed, Peyton knew Veillusionists would find a way to link a series of vBrains together and create an interactive Veillusion between them. Veillusionsts could turn their vOrchestras into vSymphonies. Each vBrain could be given the same narrative framework and background, a shared reality. Then, each vBrain would represent a different perspective, a different character, in the Veillusion and, when all the vBrains were linked together, a Veiler could choose which character in the story they wanted to be—by Veiling that character’s respective vBrain.
The availability of only one perspective in a Veillusion became one of the major complaints of the older generations of Veilers. They were willing to forego the absolute realism of the new breed of Veillusions for the greater detail and character options of the Old Time Veillusions. The older generations went even further and claimed that, because they were Veiling real, living Veilactors, Old Time Veillusions had a more human feel to them. Peyton couldn’t believe people actually found Old Time Veillusions to be more realistic than the far more advanced and direct Veillusions of the day.
As budding new-school Veillusionists quickly discovered, Veillusionism wasn’t without its own set of laws. There were definitely some limitations and boundaries Veillusionists had to work within. While it was possible to create fantasy and fiction, the mind couldn’t be made to concretely believe something. Once the Veillusion ended, the story was over. The brain would reject the story if it attempted to alter the mind to the point that it changed the person’s perception of external reality. More than anything, the function seemed to be an arm of self-preservation and self-protection. The mind simply wouldn’t allow itself to be tricked, driven mad, or absolutely convinced of something untrue.
Since Veillusionists couldn’t change someone’s entire reality to the point where the person’s perception of external reality was altered, Veillusions couldn’t be used as some giant propaganda machine. It was purely entertainment. Veillusionists could make people fly; they could make aliens appear; they could send people traveling through time and space. However, they couldn’t convince someone that, Total Recall style, they weren’t really who they thought they were.
vFlatlining didn’t work through Veillusions, either. Accompanied by schematics for manufacturing an artificial brain, the single doctrine Yoko did release likened the phenomenon to how the human brain perceived computer generated characters or robots. No matter how strikingly realistic a computer generated character or a robot, the human brain was always able to look into its eyes and tell it wasn’t real. Yoko stated that something in the human eyes—some spark—somehow signified realness to other humans. Yoko believed something in the depths of the eyes reflected a history, a person, a life.
Yoko imagined the mind worked the same way: it could sense somehow that a Veillusion wasn’t from a real person. Perhaps a Veillusion didn’t have the right weight or the right depth; perhaps it didn’t have the right amount of history or the right texture. There was just something. Whatever it was, the mind could tell a Veillusion was, in fact, a Veillusion and therefore, not real. Because of that, a Flatline Veillusion—one in which the main character died or was killed—didn’t have the same effect as a real vFlatline memory. In a Flatline Veillusion, no one real actually died, and the brain knew it. Somehow, it simply knew. Probably the same way the mind knew not to let someone all out Total Recall it. At least, that was what Yoko figured.
Peyton seethed daily. She believed the limitations imposed by The Jin Experience bill were an injustice to Veillusionists. She was convinced that simply allowing the storage of artificial neuroelectrical patterns would throw open the doors for Veillusions and make an entire world of possibilities available.
Because of the damn bill, Veillusionists felt as if they were pouring their art through a funnel—which only emptied into a thimble. Peyton could barely imagine what she and other Veillusionists would produce if they were allowed to store the artificial neuroelectrical patterns they authored. She could only wait, imagine it, and seethe.
She knew the influence of the Tsay Legacy wasn’t going to die down any time soon, especially to such a degree that the Veillusionist lobby could sway Congress to overturn or rewrite parts of The Jin Experience bill. That was doubly true while the Widow Tsay was still alive. Or any of the Tsay Trustees, for that matter.
Peyton recognized that, although the influence and power of the Trustees waned (as had their air of royalty), they had not disappeared completely. For the bill to get overturned or rewritten not only would the Widow Tsay miraculously have to change her mind or die, Hunter Kennerly and Roy Houze would, too. As the three remaining Tsay Trustees, nothing would happen until they died or changed their damn
minds.
Like everyone else raised in the New Veil World, Peyton was familiar with the so-called Veil Apocalypse that Ken and the Trustees espoused. That potential future of Veil was drilled into everyone’s head after The Jin Experience was released. The dangers were taught to future generations of Veilers. Peyton understood the damn dangers. She even somewhat agreed that, were society to allow storage of real neuroelectrical patterns, it could lead to problems. She was sure it could lead to problems she couldn’t foresee.
She knew the Veil Apocalypse lessons tried to educate Veilers about all the potential risks—but who paid attention to that kind of stuff when they were a kid? In the end, Peyton knew enough to understand how it would totally be a bad thing if they allowed for storage of real neuroelectrical patterns. She also recognized how that risk was the Widow Tsay’s main reason for blindly, stubbornly supporting the bill for all those years.
However, allowing the storage of artificial neuroelectrical patterns solely for the purpose of Veillusions was completely different. As far as Peyton was concerned, none of the Veil Apocalypse arguments held up if one only considered storage of artificial patterns and only for Veillusions. Peyton waited as long as she could and then realized what she had to do and how to do it.
She knew it was a risk. What she was considering could mean losing her Right To Veil permanently, especially if she pissed off the Great Widow Tsay. She decided it was a risk worth taking. To do what had to be done, Peyton had no choice but to tiptoe around the law and keep her work undetected, which meant keeping it off the vNet. When was she finished, she would have to take her crime with her and visit the Great Widow Tsay. Peyton prayed to Almighty Jin that she could sway the old woman.
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“What do you mean there’s someone here to see me?”
“Um, exactly what I said. There’s someone here to see you. A young lady. She said it’s about the Legacy and the Trustees. She said she has something you’ll want to see.”
“And she just showed up here?”
“It’s not like we’re hard to get to anymore, Suren. It’s not how it used to be. We’re not untouchable. So yeah, she just showed up here.”
“I see. Let her in. Have her sit in the garden room.”
“Ok.”
“And Roy,” she shouted after him.
“Yes?” He peered around the doorframe.
“Will you fetch my sunglasses and big white hat?”
After what seemed like half-an-hour, Peyton heard a steady squeak that got louder and closer. A frail, elderly woman in a wheelchair was rolled into the room. She was dressed in bright white from head to toe. She was wearing a white, large-rimmed hat and black sunglasses. The man pushing her wheelchair was the same man who greeted Peyton at the door. She was pretty sure he was Royce Houze.
“Ms … Ms…”—Peyton rose to her feet after stammering out her first words. She realized too late that she had no idea how she was supposed to greet the Great Widow Tsay. Was she supposed to bow? Was she supposed to get down on one knee or something?—“Great Widow Tsay,” she finished and went with a small bow of her head. The Widow Tsay didn’t put out her hand or anything, as if Peyton was supposed to kiss it, which wouldn’t really have surprised her. Ok, so maybe there were no grand formalities.
Whew.
“Please,” Suren spoke with a hoarse voice. “Call me Suren.”
“I’m Roy,” he nodded at the young girl.
“I’m—I’m Peyton Waymon,” she introduced herself. She gave another little bow and stepped backwards to find her chair. When the backs of her knees touched the seat, she lowered herself onto it.
Suren noticed a large duffle bag on the ground next to the chair.
“Nice to meet you. Sorry for the delay, I don’t attend to many visitors.”
“It’s—it’s ok. I understand you are very private, and I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Nonsense, I always make time for youth.” Suren grinned and removed her hat and sunglasses. She discovered that with them on, she could barely see anything anymore.
Suren wasn’t lying when she said she didn’t attend to many visitors. It must’ve been at least five years since anyone sat in her garden room. Following Lundy’s trial and Ken’s death, she resumed her old practice of tutoring children at her home. Suren tutored daily. Small groups at first and then damn near entire schools. The children would get bussed in. They were excited, but nowhere near as excited as their parents—who couldn’t believe their child was getting schooled by the Great Widow Tsay herself. However, as Suren’s health faded, so did her energetic enthusiasm for dealing with youngsters.
The young girl was pretty. She had incredibly pale, porcelain skin, which was common and made sense if one considered how most people spent their time in the New Veil World. She was petite but not a waif, which was curious to Suren, as most people those days tended to border on morbid obesity—also due to how people spent their time.
Her hair was a cute blond, but kept cropped short, as were most hairstyles, so as not to hinder access to vPorts. She had some tattoos on her arms. One of them looked familiar, but Suren’s eyes couldn’t see detail from that far.
Her clothes were reminiscent of when Jin was still alive, which always saddened Suren. She was amazed by how the world slowed down after the New Veil World. Cultural aspects like technology and fashion, which were once so prominent, were thrown to the wayside and barely progressed. They were no longer important to people. Suren found that extremely disappointing. She adored fashion and used to revel in envisioning clothes from the future.
“I’ve come to talk to you about Veil and the Tsay Legacy,” the girl stated in an amusing, matter-of-fact manner, after which she smiled sheepishly.
“I’m sure you have. That’s what most people wish to speak to me about,” Suren acknowledged. She spoke slowly and quietly, but out of old age rather than an air of importance—as she was so prone to do in the past, when trying to get her way.
“I—I … have something I would like you to see,” Peyton said with a tad more confidence.
“I see that.” Suren nodded toward the bag next to the girl’s chair.
“And I only ask that you hear me out first. Please. That’s all I ask.”
That got Suren’s attention, and she perked up. No one made such a request of her in years. No one made it sound like her opinion or position mattered much at all anymore.
“I always give youth a fair listen, young lady.”
“Good … good,” Peyton smiled. “Because you’ll want to hear everything I have to say and see everything I have to show you before you make up your mind.”
“Make up my mind?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“About this,” the girl replied as she unzipped the duffle bag and removed an artificial brain, which was encased in a glass skull.
Painted across the back of the skull in shimmering gold block letters were the words “TSAY LEGACY.”
That girl certainly knew how to dress things up.
“Young lady, I know what that is.”
“Yes … yes of course you do,” she concurred as she lifted the artificial brain from her lap and carefully placed it on the table in front of her. “But what you’ll be less familiar with is this…” she grinned and presented a small, black rectangular box. It was shiny and looked like it was made of the same material as the original vCollars. It was inscribed with the same style of large, shimmering gold lettering as the skull.
It read: “SUREN.”
Boy, did that girl really know how to dress things up.
“Now, before you say or ask me anything, I would like you to do this. Then hear what I have to say before you make up your mind. That’s all I ask. If you want me to leave afterwards, I will. But please, first do this.”
“Do what?” Suren asked.
The girl set the small black box onto the table, next to the artificial brain. With both h
ands, she carefully picked up the glass skull, adjusted her position so she could see underneath, and lowered it onto the box. The small box disappeared into the hollow bottom of the glass skull as Peyton lowered the skull on top of it. The box clicked into place. The brain lit up in the same fashion as the one that housed The Jin Experience, except Suren’s name was spelled out in blue lights. Her name encircled the skull in a manner reminiscent of an old news ticker.
“Veil this,” the girl finally responded.
Suren stared at the lit up brain.
The letters of her name continued to loop around it like a curiously menacing, hypnotic carousel. She knew what it meant: the girl devised something capable of storing neuroelectricity. Obviously, whatever it was, it was strictly forbidden—and the young Peyton girl knew that. The girl apparently hadn’t hooked the device up to the vNet, or it would’ve been disabled, as would’ve her vPort … immediately and permanently. While those facts did pique curiosity, Suren had been there before.
The Tsay Legacy endured years of people trying to persuade them to retract or rewrite parts of The Jin Experience bill in order to allow for the storage of neuroelectrical patterns. Her answer was always the same and would continue to be the same. If anything, she felt she at least owed that much to Ken.
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