The Veil

Sea of Serenity

Luna

3129-MARCH-28

To call John’s sleep fitful would be like calling storm waters mildly upset. His restless mind kept trying to work the problem, and understand the puzzle piece that was Connor Ashford. When he finally did sleep, John’s dreams took him to the Maiden of the Stars, trying to fill in the unknown information, while his subconscious mind searched for answers.

John woke with a start to the ghostly whisper of Connor’s voice on a non-existent wind, “You won’t find the answers there, Doc.”

His eyes flipped open, two shutters incapable of remaining closed. His eyes roamed his bedroom, attempting to pierce the darkness like the eye of some ancient and powerful being. When his eyes ran over the space where his desk and chair were, opposite the food of his bed, John did a double-take. He had seen a silhouette in his chair, one he would swear looked like Connor, but when he turned back there was nothing.

John rubbed his eyes, then checked the time keeper on his nightstand. It read 0803. Thinking about when he called the Director, plus his fitful sleep, John tried to guess at how much actual sleep he had gotten. “Maybe three, three and a half hours if I’m generous.”

Deciding he didn’t want to return to the fated passageways of the Maiden, John gave up on sleep and got out of bed. He walked through the living room and into his modest kitchen space, flipping the switch on a kettle to boil some water.

Activating a holo display in the kitchen, John scanned his messages for anything new. When he found nothing from his Director or the Salvataggio, he started flipping over to the files from the disaster.

Before he could open anything, John heard that ghostly whisper of Connor’s voice again, “You won’t find the answers there, Doc.”

John spun around, not even sure if the voice was coming from somewhere in his apartment, or if it was an echo in his mind. He flipped the kettle off without looking, deciding coffee was unnecessary with this much adrenaline in his system, and instead went to his desk.

Sitting down and retrieving his Band, John dropped it in place on his head, and went through the identification steps, uttering the activation phrase as his final step, “Dead men tell the best tales.” The magnets flipped polarity and pulled the interface down to connect with his implant.

John focused on the Wind icon, and just like every other time, the real world faded away.

When he appeared in his personal virtual environment, John nearly startled at the sight of Connor Ashford sitting on the patient couch.

“Hey Doc, welcome back.” Connor said, a wide grin on his face.

John turned his head slightly, an incongruity scratching at his hind brain that he couldn’t quite place. His mind told him to ignore it for now, so John went to his desk and picked up the antiquated clipboard and pen. He then went to his preferred couch and sat down across from the oddity in human form.

“You’re a haunting man, Mr. Ashford. Has anyone ever told you that?” John asked in a serious tone.

Connor’s face twisted through a myriad of emotions, clearly trying to decide how he felt about this idea. “No, I’d say that’s a new one.” His smirk fell into place once again, leading John to wonder what this man felt was worth smirking about.

“When we last spoke, you told me that you were conscious until the 14th.” John said, matter of factly.

“Thereabouts, yeah.” Connor nodded and agreed.

“You survived three days longer than any other passengers?” John asked.

Connor shrugged, “I guess? I don’t know when the other passengers passed out.”

John set his pen down in the middle of the clipboard where it remained, ignoring physics as if magnetically attached. “Were you aware that the crew turned off oxygen to the passenger compartments?”

“News to me, Doc.”

“So you could breathe, despite a lack of oxygen, for three days longer than any other passenger and two days longer than the crew…” John made it a statement instead of a question, and let the conclusion hang in the air.

Connor nodded as if acknowledging the statement, but neither agreeing, nor disagreeing, “Maybe I’ve got better breathing techniques, Doc. Might be I’m an expert at meditation.”

“Here’s what I think, Mr. Ashford,” Setting the clipboard down on the couch beside him, John brought his right leg up and rested the ankle across his left knee, “You or someone you work with is a very talented hacker. I think you bypassed the manual shutoff for the oxygen, allowing you to funnel oxygen into your cabin for a longer period of time. I think you or someone you work with destroyed the Maiden as some kind of terrorist attack, and I think they are currently infiltrating SAIS and SCG networks to cover their tracks.”

Connor’s smirk never faltered, “Couldn’t be further from the truth, Doc.”

John continued his theory as if Connor never spoke, “What I’m trying to determine is your exact part in all of this, since you don’t strike me as a martyr”

“You’re right about precisely one thing, Doc.”

“And that would be?” John asked.

“I’m no martyr.”

John picked up his clipboard and pen to write a quick note before looking back at the man sitting across from him. “Who is your partner?”

Connor shook his head just enough to be visible to John, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Doc.”

“So they’re someone you deem to be in a position we would not suspect. Someone we couldn’t predict.” John jotted down another quick note.

Connor chuckled at that statement, “As it was famously said, ‘before I came here, I was confused about this subject. Having listened to your lecture, I am confused. But on a higher level.’”

“Enrico Fermi. ‘It is no good to try to stop knowledge from going forward. Ignorance is never better than knowledge.’ I’m here to gain knowledge, Mr. Ashford.” John schooled his face, but inwardly he felt like there was a victory in this small battle.

“I’ve given you knowledge, Doc. You just haven’t understood it yet.”

John’s eyes narrowed as his thoughts replayed the conversation. Did I miss something he said?

John asked, “What knowledge have you given me? You’ve only spoken in vagaries so far.”

“Why, the answer to the most important question in the universe.” Connor’s smirk shifted to a self-satisfied grin for a moment.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“And what is the most important question in the universe?” John shared a genuine note of curiosity.

Connor responded by tapping the side of his nose with an index finger and saying, “Now if I told you that, you wouldn’t understand the knowledge on your own.”

John was about to push back when the indicator started flashing in the top right of his vision. He didn’t hesitate to answer this time, and as the virtual environment gave way to the real world, John was met with the frowning visage of the Director.

“I told you to get a minimum of six hours of sleep.” The Director growled.

“Yes Sir,” John said, “I couldn’t sleep, and my current patient, Mr. Connor Ashford, may hold answers as to what happened.”

“Connor Ashford?” The Director asked, “You know I’m good with names, John. I don’t think he’s on the list of neural recordings we received.”

“I loaded him from the master list I received.” John proceeded to describe the man in detail.

“Look John,” The Director said, “You’re one of our best investigators, so I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, but you should know something.”

John felt a note of concern trying to creep up, “What should I know, sir?”

The Director sighed heavily, “I got through to the Salvataggio, John. Commander Scottsdale stated that she has never spoken with you directly. Voice comms or otherwise.”

“That…doesn’t make any sense.” John felt the world fall out from under him, “Why would I have called her back, then? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I had the Tech team comb over the logs. There’s no record of an incoming call from the Salvataggio.” The Director’s face looked pained, “And they insist that those logs couldn’t be removed without setting off a dozen security subroutines, plus it would cause at least three more log entries to be generated in locations that require different logins to access.”

John’s mind started grasping for answers to a problem he didn’t fully understand. “Then we have a mole, or this hacker is using gear our team hasn’t seen. Military or black market.” He didn’t want to sound frantic, but the alternative was that he imagined communications with the Commander of a ship he only vaguely knew of because of their ties to the investigation. Imagined her giving him very specific information that would otherwise be irrelevant.

“John,” The Director said, but when he didn’t get any kind of visual response, he tried again, “John.” This time John focused his eyes back on the man. “Maybe you should take a couple days. Rest and come back to this with a fresh mind.”

That was the last thing John wanted. Worse still, he felt as if delaying this investigation could have disastrous consequences. Composing himself, John said, “I appreciate the concern sir, and I will consider it, but this investigation is important. Perhaps I will…slow down, though.”

The Director sighed. He could sense a proverbial dog with a bone. “Fine, but if I get a whiff of things getting worse, or even things not getting a little better…I’ll have to put you on leave, John.”

John nodded, “Understood, Director.” Then signed off the call.

The mysteries, and questions surrounding them, were continuing to stockpile. John considered what he knew up to this point. Over two thirds of the neural recordings were missing, including most of the crew. Potentially malicious data sent to the ship before they left Luna, and significant system abnormalities. The loss of communication well before the ship was destroyed. The communication he received from Command Scottsdale that apparently doesn’t exist, and her denial after the fact.

Then there was Connor Ashford. John would think the man an anachronism if not for his seeming comfort with modernity. His accent was too thick, his behavior not indicative of the situation, and there was something else his mind wanted to grasp onto that kept slipping away.

As John tried to wrestle with these conundrums, his stomach started to growl. It wasn’t unusual to forgo some meals while working an investigation, but thinking on it John couldn’t remember the last meal he ate.

“I guess I’ll investigate what I have to eat before I investigate this mystery.” John said, trying to add levity where he wasn’t sure he felt any.

The investigation of food choices was short lived, as John realized he was low on protein and fat cartridges for the food printer. He opted for a simple caesar salad. Small chunks of chicken spread throughout allowing for a decent helping of caesar dressing with the remaining cartridges.

Three minutes after selecting his meal, a door on the printer's front popped open and a plate slid out with his salad. Grabbing the plate, John sat at a small two-seater dining table in the corner of his living room.

He shifted the food around, then leaned forward to bring a fork full of food up to his mouth.

“Tick tock, Doc.”

“What?!” John jumped back in his chair, the sight of Connor sitting across from him startling John almost violently. The chair flew back with John still seated on it, slamming back against the floor and causing him to smack his head.

John didn’t know how long he lost consciousness for, but he could feel his mind clawing back through the darkness. Before his eyes could fully open, an ache on the back of his head radiated out, growing in intensity with each second. When his eyes finally opened enough to view the world, his mind registered subconsciously that the second chair was empty.

It took a minute for John to start rising off the floor. From a sitting position, he touched the back of his head and found no indication of a wound. Rolling to his knees slowly, John probed his sense of equilibrium, and found it seemingly unaffected. His mind searched for other possible signs of a concussion, and came back negative.

Tentatively, John got to his feet using the table to support his rise. When he was confident that his balance was still reliable, John stepped carefully towards his desk where the Band was located. Dropping into his office chair with a bit more forcefullness than he might have intended, John grabbed his band and dropped it onto his head. He went through the identification sequence, then used a verbal command to call the Directory.

“Contact the Director.”

The voice came back in the affirmative, “Contacting the Director.”

It only took a split second for John to realize something was wrong when his Band didn’t bring up a call window, and instead his view of the world around him faded to black. It was followed by his custom virtual environment materializing, Connor Ashford sitting in his soon becoming regular position on the patient couch.

“What the hell?” John asked rhetorically.

“Sorry about that, Doc.” Connor said, his face looking apologetic, “I didn’t mean to startle you like that. I certainly didn’t mean you harm.”

John lunged at Connor, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him partly up off the couch, “What the hell did you do!?!”

Connor made no move to escape John’s grasp. Instead his trademark smirk returned as he said, “Woah there, Doc. I’ll answer your questions, just take a seat.”

“Like you’ve been answering my questions so far? Riddles and half-truths?” John nearly spat the words in Connor’s face.

‘Full answers, no riddles, Doc.” Connor’s tone was placating with gentle notes of pleading and reassurance, “I promise.”

Slowly, John lowered the man back to the couch and stepped away, then crossed his arms and took a firm stance, his lips forming a thin, neutral line.

“Doc…sit, please.” Connor gestured at the other couch, “I need to give you some backstory for context, so this might take a bit.”

John’s eyes narrowed, but he reluctantly obliged and sat in his usual spot. This time without his clipboard, and not so comfortably, as he sat close to the edge while leaning on his knees.

Connor nodded in acceptance of that small victor, but didn’t take his typical relaxed pose. Instead he let his feet sit on the floor properly, hands clasped in his lap.

“To start with, I was born in the early 28th century.” Connor said, then raised a hand to forestall the question he could see forming on John’s lips, “Doc, please, let me get through this. It will answer most, if not all, of your questions.”

Reluctantly, John nodded for Connor to continue.

“So, I’m guessing when you saw my name you figured it was another family of science or history nerds naming their kid after the founder of neural recording technology.” Connor’s tone was slightly exasperated while stating this point. He didn’t much care for people naming their kids after him. “Except I was born in the early 28th, and you can intuit what that detail means.”

“You’re the original.” John made this as a statement, rather than a question, and Connor didn’t interrupt.

“Born and bred in Eden, Texas, United States of America.” Connor’s smile was genuine and a little nostalgic. “But everyone knows that. It’s the details that aren’t public record which are relevant.”

“Here’s the thing, Doc, while I was the inventor of neural recording tech such as we use it for humanity, I didn’t create the technology.” As Connor said this, John’s eyes furrowed. That felt like a distinction without a difference to him.

“The original creators, so far as I’m aware, were an alliance of aliens from the other side of the Milky Way.” Connor sat forward now, mirroring John’s pose but with more energy and palpable excitement, “I don’t rightly understand it myself, Doc, but they chose me to bring this technology to humanity.”

Connor’s voice carried some of that energy. “They sent a single, small probe-like ship with a single digital occupant. Landed in the fields of my family home, and waited six months for me to return home from college.”

“One night, I’m out on the porch having a beer with my Pops, when we see a pulsing light in the field. Pure white, and directed with such accuracy that my dad couldn’t see it unless he was literally lookin’ over my shoulder.”

John was starting to feel his curiosity grow. Whether or not the story was bullshit, it was interesting so far.

Connor continued, “This was Texas, of course, we were both packin’. So we drew our sidearms and walked out into that field. Eighty yards into the field we found this pod, looked like some kinda futuristic torpedo from a sci-fi movie. We approached cautiously, but when a small panel opened, it wasn’t something dangerous that came out. It was an alien speaker.”

Making a roughly square shape with his hands, Connor indicated a hole that was roughly four inches on each side. “A voice came out from the speaker inside the hole, and while it spoke English, the way it spoke was definitely not human.”

“Hello Connor Ashford, and progenitor of Connor Ashford.” Connor did his best to imitate the voice, “We have chosen you, Connor Ashford, to advance humanity forward.”

John’s eyes widened just a little bit. Not enough to show complete surprise, but enough that Connor could pick up on the change.

“Skipping ahead a bit, Doc, we moved this probe into the barn to secure it, and I tell ya that thing was way too light for anything Earth made. While I never could pronounce the alien’s real name, we ended up calling him Nate.” Connor chuckled, “That was a little joke, ya see. Not A Terrestrial Entity.”

John didn’t smile or show signs of mirth, but Connor could see the man’s body starting to relax, and that assured him the man would give Connor time to finish the story.