The Veil

Sea of Serenity

Luna

3129-MARCH-23

John pulled his chair up to the desk in his cabin, his habits thoroughly formed by this point. This would be his one hundredth investigation. Not a record among CIs, or Consciousness Investigators, but he was a firm believer in quality over quantity anyway. The desk was tidy, an easy enough achievement after over a millennia of digital technology advancements. Not that the desk held any form of screen or typing device either.

Sitting front and center on his desk was a short stand, with his Band. The Banal Device as it was marketed. The name was a misnomer, but the technology basically sold itself. A ring-like apparatus that fit onto your head, it was necessary to connect with modern systems.

John lifted the Band up, fitting it on his head so that it rested just below his healthy hairline. He felt the slight push of the magnets from the interface port embedded under his skin at the base of his skull, pushing the interface port of the Band back as it hung down behind his head. There was a gentle tingle in his scalp as a bone conductive audio prompt reached his ear.

“Identify.” Said a gentle female voice, completely devoid of accent.

John obliged, “Doctor John Alistair.” His voice carried the very slight remnants of a posh British accent from being raised in Old Londontown, in what used to be the United Kingdom.

“Passphrase.” The voice prompted.

This time he smirked. His passphrase was the unofficial motto of all CIs, and likely the same one many used. “Dead men tell the best tales.” He said.

The voice acknowledged his words, “Passphrase accepted.” Then the gentle push of the magnets stopped and he felt the interface port gently mate up to the implant in his neck.

The reality overlay faded into his vision, displaying his default interface. From images he had seen of centuries-old tech, the basic interface of personal technology hadn’t changed much. He had date and time along the top, power indicator, message indicator, and the rarely needed signal strength indicator. The only people who worried about signal strength in the 32nd century were asteroid miners in the outer reaches of the system.

Arrayed in the main section of his interface was a grid of programs and tools. His messages icon in the top left corner had a gently pulsing red dot over an antiquated envelope icon to indicate he had new messages. Focusing on the icon, it opened his list of messages in chronological order from newest to oldest. The top message had another red pulsing dot on it. The header read Initial Summary of Incident 3128-11-00381732X: Maiden of the Stars Disaster.

John reminded himself once again that the incident numbers were so high because Sol Traffic Control Systems generated an incident number for everything. A ship running low on fuel? Incident number. Critical member of a ship crew stubs a tow and reports it at a port of call? Incident number. The real wildcard was always the letter at the end. X was a literal wildcard. It meant undetermined. While the Search & Rescue investigators would look for a cause among any debris they could chase down, CIs were the ones typically determining the cause.

Focusing on the message, the contents expanded in his vision.

Preliminary Summary of Events

Incident No.:

3128-11-00381732X

Date of Event:

3128-NOVEMBER-15

Corporation:

Maiden of the Stars, LLC.

Ship:

Maiden of the Stars

Crew Complement:

10,050

Passenger Compliment:

31,548

Survivors:

0 Found

Current timeline of events

3128-SEP-01

Launched from lunar orbit, initiating burn for Mars

3128-OCT-02

Completed partial slingshot around Mars, initiating burn for Jupiter.

3128-OCT-16

Completed slingshot around Saturn, initiated burn for Saturn

3128-NOV-03

Approximately halfway to Jupiter, all contact lost with crew.

3128-NOV-15

Estimated date when Maiden of the Stars lost pressure vessel cohesion, causing the ship to disintegrate.

3128-NOV-17

Search & Rescue vessels tracing the path of the vessel detected a large photonic energy spike consistent with matter/antimatter reactor containment loss.

3128-DEC-15

One of three Black Box Probes launched from the vessel is recovered

3129-JAN-01

Black Box data module launched down the well for retrieval in lunar orbit

3129-MAR-19

Black Box data module retrieved in lunar orbit

John winced at the data. He remembered news reports when the ship was launched. It was reported as the largest starliner ever built. 682 meters in length, 120 meters in width, 145 meters in height. Even the cheap cabins would feel luxurious. He took a deep breath and centered himself. He couldn’t change the past, only reveal it.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Time to get to work, John.” He said to himself.

Closing out his messages, John shifted his focus to a unique icon in the top right corner of the icon grid. Represented by a single wavy line, this program was his primary tool. W.I.N.D., also known as Waveform Interface for iNvestigative Dialogue. A mouthful of nonsense in his opinion, but the creator wanted to be clever. He focused on the icon, and as it expanded, the world around him disappeared.

A new world formed in its place, building like trillions of small light particles. Though virtual in nature, it was indistinguishable to his senses. The room was cozy, early 21st century English architecture. One wall held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of classics from the era. There were large bay windows looking out on a calm park in Old Londontown, back when it was just London. While he could have chosen a real park from the era, John had designed this one to be simple and calming.

The room held an oak desk in one corner with his clipboard and a pen. While not strictly necessary, John enjoyed the feeling of writing on paper. Especially when the Band would simply transfer his notes into the incident file automatically. Moving to the desk from where he appeared in front of the door, John grabbed the clipboard and pen. He then stepped over to one of two couches in the middle of the room, and sat on the leather one with his back to the windows. The couch felt as comfortable as it did every time he came here.

Leaning back, John turned his focus to the right edge of his clipboard. While patients would simply see a clipboard and paper, there was one anachronism he permitted, and only he could see. A series of holographic controls for certain quick commands.

John tapped the control at the top, a square with a picture of a carafe, and a pitcher of water appeared on the coffee table in front of him with a glass already full. John then pressed the control beside it, and the arrow on the side flipped outward, expanding a menu of names.

Tapping the first name on the list, a confirmation option appeared over the list, and John selected Yes.

Much like how the environment coalesced from light particles, a form started to take shape on the opposing couch. A middle-aged man, Middle Eastern, tanned skin. He had a short, neatly trimmed beard and wore loose brown cotton pants, shirt, and vest with a matching stylized Kumma on his head.

Once formed, the man did not move. Not until John pressed the third control down, styled with one of the oldest digital icons man created. The play/pause button. It switched from red to green when he pressed it, and the man’s eyes sparked to life.

“Hello, Mohammed Al-Hakim, I am Doctor John Alistair.” John said in a warm tone, “Please do not be alarmed, but I need to explain some things to you.”

The man’s face still displayed alarm, as so many of his patients did. “Where am I?” Mohammed asked in accented English.

“You are in my study, in a virtual environment, hosted at The Veil.” John spoke at an even pace, with a calm demeanor, letting his training take the lead.

“W-why am I here? The Veil? Isn’t that on Luna?” The alarm was giving way to fear, and possible understanding.

“You were onboard the Maiden of the Stars, Mohammed. Sadly, it went down with all hands, on November 15th, 3128.” John was in full compassion mode, like he always did, to transition patients into their new reality.

“Oh Allah, my wife, my daughters, my sons. They were with me. Please let me see them one last time.” Mohammed’s tears fell unbidden.

John shook his head gently, “I’m sorry, Mohammed, but recovery has only sent us one of the three Black Box modules so far. Your family is not listed among those stored on this unit.”

While the information was strictly speaking true, John was well aware that policy didn’t permit them to pull multiple consciousness into a single session, nor did it permit loved ones to see each other. It sounded cruel, but the law had to perceive them as non-human to avoid the backlash of the theological debates.

Stranger in John’s mind was that Mohammed mentioned a wife, daughters, and sons. John was well aware that Muslim families could be large, so to not see at least one other member of his family on this module was an abnormality.

John mentally shook the thoughts from his mind, and focused on his task. “Mohammed, I am required to read some disclaimers before we can proceed. I will need a verbal confirmation of your acknowledgement. May I read those now?”

Wiping his tears, Mohammed didn’t look at John, but he nodded, then said, “Yes.”

“Thank you, Mohammed.” John pulled up the standard disclaimer, and read it to the recently deceased.

As per Stellar Aerospace Investigative Services’ compliance with Sol Traffic Control Systems policies, your consciousness has been stored and retrieved on a Neural Recorder Black Box. SAIS will only activate your consciousness for the purposes of investigating the event you were present for hereto numbered 3128-11-00381732X.

Once SAIS has concluded its investigation, your consciousness will be laid to rest in the traditional method, or in accordance with your last will and testament. SAIS does not hold any ownership nor liability over your consciousness, however we are required to limit your access to the virtual environment of your investigator.

SAIS is required to inform you that a panel of doctors, scientists, and theologians studied Neural Recorder technology extensively, and have concluded that it poses no risk to your immortal soul, nor will it hinder your ability to reach your appropriate afterlife.

SAIS thanks you for your cooperation, and offers condolences on your loss.

John tried not to make it sound like he was reading a boring script, but there was only so much lifting a compassionate tone could do with dry, corporate words. Mohammed seemed to understand, at least.

“Yes, I understand, Doctor Alistair.” Mohammed said.

John gave him another warm smile, then said, “Please, call me John.”

Mohammed gave the briefest of attempts at a smile, and nodded.

“Mohammed, we’ll start at the beginning. Please tell me about your shuttle from Earth to Luna.” John’s transition to psychologist started, and he would draw that out over a few easy questions to get the ball rolling.

“My family and I left two days early to visit my brother on Luna,” Mohammed started, “My wife, three daughters, eight sons, and son-in-law.” Mohammed’s eyes closed a moment, squeezing out two tears, “My eldest daughter was pregnant. Due around the holidays, she wanted to have her baby while at Saturn Station.”

John was emotionally calloused against a lot of things, but babies were a weak spot. Besides, it helped to build rapport with patients when he could empathize. So John didn’t fight the tear that broke free as he said, “That would have been beautiful, Mohammed.”

The man smiled sadly, “We boarded the Maiden on schedule, but there was a delay in our launch.”

“What kind of delay, technical?” John asked, his investigative side taking the lead.

Mohammed paused, looking off in thought, “No, no, I remember joking with a crewmember about it a few days in.” He held a hand up, “We received a large data transfer. Something about stellar cartography maps being updated. The crewmember thought it was silly, because they usually send those up via data modules on a shuttle.”

John gave a light chuckle, “Yeah, they don’t usually hold up maiden voyages for several hours to transfer that much data over. I suspect someone had a last minute request for some…additional programming.”

For the first time Mohammed laughed, getting the euphemism John had used. When he calmed down, Mohammed said, “Thank you, John. I needed that.” The sadness was still present, but it wasn’t quite as strong. “I will say though, she told me the data did include stellar cartography data. Apparently it was sent up on the last shuttle, but the previous data was corrupt.”

“Ah, so they didn’t have a shuttle or shuttle pilot available, and decided to just tight beam it.” John nodded in understanding.

“Exactly what the crewmember said.” Mohammed nodded along with him. “When we left, it was smooth sailing, as our ancestors used to say.”

John and Mohammed went back and forth for a few hours, detailing the events at each leg of the trip. While Mohammed wasn’t crew, he was a curious man. He understood much of the physics involved, and didn’t mind getting into the weeds.

“I am sorry, John.” Mohammed wracked his hands, “While I have vague impressions of events up to November 10th, I don’t know the time of day I lost consciousness.”

“Not at all, Mohammed. You’ve been a great help.” John reached out to shake the man’s virtual hand, “This is how investigators work. I confirmed you were in your cabin, 153, on deck 2, section C with your whole family. The details matter, and you gave us a great deal.”

“I hope you find out what happened, John.” Mohammed held onto his hand a moment or two longer, “And if you do meet my family, tell my daughter we will raise her child in heaven as a family.”

John didn’t have the heart to tell Mohammed that, even if they found the Black Box with his daughter’s consciousness, it wouldn’t be usable. Something about signals from the fetus caused strange feedback with neural recordings. They were banned from being brought online after a long line of failed attempts with very disturbing results.

Instead John smiled genuinely and said, “Mohammed, I don’t expect to wake you again before the end of this investigation, so I hope that your soul finds peace with your family.”

This wasn’t John’s comfort zone either, he and theology were lifelong opponents, but he wasn’t going to be rude to a man who had died and been brought back as a virtual consciousness.

“Thank you, brother.” Mohammed said in reply, his smile only fading as his form dematerialized in the reverse of how he appeared.

John pressed a control on his clipboard to clear the visible data, knowing Mohammed’s file was already stored on the network, then took a deep breath, released it, and brought up the list of names.

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