The Specter of the Veil

By S.N. Stephens

For fans of Black Mirror comes a masterfully-crafted, haunting sci-fi thriller that will keep you up at night pondering identity loss, human connection, and survival...

A massive digital divide.
An offering to sever human connection as the world knows it.
How far is too far?

Dr. Trey Nielsen, a brilliant, rage-filled geneticist, has suffered from a biological defect his whole life and only has four months to live.  He has worked for years on a unique cloning transference technology that would allow him to live in a healthy body - forever.  An offering made available to the public. But his creation has a fatal flaw. The clock is ticking to perfect the technology, and he will do whatever it takes to survive—including murder.

When Ava Rollins-resourceful, tech-poor, and mentally disturbed-is hired as an intern as a scientist at S.E.L.F Initiatives, she is not prepared for the horrifying secrets she uncovers. Desperate for true human connection, involuntarily segregated from tech-rich society, and unable to communicate, how can she save humanity from themselves?

The richly-inventive first of its series, The Specter of the Veil promises imaginative world-building, sizzling romance, and drastic action for survival. It is as maniacal of a page-turner as its unforgettable characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S.N. Stephens
• Release date: Aug 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393559757

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The decrepit widow hobbled to the farthest room in the back of the house; her liver-spotted hands gripped the cane used to assist her journey. Step-by-step, she shuffled and passed abandoned rooms. Dishes caked with food weeks old spilled over the kitchen sink's sides, the counters grungy and untouched. Soiled blankets and ration containers littered what served as the sitting room. She was no longer bothered by the smells of decay and rotten food.

She scanned her destination through tired eyes framed with thick frames. The smooth white walls didn't have the evidence of nail holes for picture frames like the rest of the residence smattered with long-forgotten memories ripped from their places, leaving only the disturbance in drywall. She preferred not to remember. The red light that blinked underneath her left temple had started to fade to a pale pink the last year as its computing power declined with age. She was beginning to forget things; names, places, her dark past, as her brain's plasticity became increasingly depressed. It still nagged her at 9:00 every morning to respond with her personalized encrypted hashtag and complete the purchase transaction for the cloning services. Every day it became harder to ignore the requests but knew that she could hold down a tech maintenance job for enough bitcoin to pay the loan once she transferred. She could send the hashtag, but it would decline, and they would repossess the pod. The government subsidies weren't enough to cover the expense. She couldn't let that happen.

She felt the cold tile of the cleanroom underneath her tattered socks as she stumbled over the threshold. The room served the sole purpose of containing the incubation pod that housed her self-body and a towel to dry off. Shivering, she wrapped her shawl tighter around her. The room had to be kept at 4 degrees Celsius, as was instructed by the teenage boy who installed the pod. She ignored his scrunched nose and cutting eyes full of distaste and judgment that day. She didn't mind living in poverty. She wasn't responsible for anyone anymore except herself and hasn't been for almost two decades.

The clone that floated in the eight-foot-long, four-foot wide, three-foot deep cylindrical pod visible by its transparent canopy looked just like her from 30 years ago with some minor upgrades. Its eyes were closed, an empty vessel ready to be inhabited. It, instead, she, was naked, fully immersed with just a foot of air space in between the liquid and the upward swinging door so it would not spill out when the transference was complete. She had removed inches from her waist to measure at 26 inches. Her long blonde hair swayed in the preservation fluid. Tighter gluteal muscles and a shorter torso were also changes she checked off the requisition order form. She glanced down at her stumpy legs riddled with dark varicose veins, the effects of aging manifest, and smiled knowing that her tall height would soon be restored. The lines are gone. She stretched out on a black recycled plastic recliner two feet away and wiped her frail, sweaty palms on the black dress she ironed that morning to still the quivering of her legs. She took a deep breath as she reached underneath the headrest to wrap her fingers around the small black cord. The other end of the cable was plugged into a black console with two rows of colored lights adjacent to the pod. The blue lights indicated that her self-body was fully charged and ready-for-use. The yellow lights would switch to solid red when the transference was complete, and the clock would start. With her other hand, she reached around the reverse side feeling for the base of her neck. The area around the port was still swollen and tender.

She shut her green eyes and snapped the plug into the base of her skull. The next thing she saw when she opened her eyes was blue. Her vision was fuzzy; it took several moments for the mind transfer to finish and begin to send the electrical signals to the body for response. Within an instant, she felt the frigid fluid on her skin, and as told, started to wiggle her fingers and toes as her nerves began to fire up. This tingling sensation ran throughout her whole body. She turned her head to the left and saw a solid red light on the console. She gasped for air as her lungs primed, and she felt the intense beating of her new heart. Her breathing became more rhythmic, and the tiredness she endured in her old age was replaced with a newfound youthful energy that she once knew intimately.

She caught a glimpse of her birth-body and experienced a sense of shock at the initial metaphysical experience. She looked down at her newly sculpted form without defect, and her lips curled up into a smile. She traced a finger along the inside of her thigh to her vagina, each delicate petal pure and responsive. At this moment for all she cared, they could dispose of her birth-body, and she would continue another long life in this new shiny one. She couldn't wait to see herself in the mirror and go play out in the world.

With enthusiastic fingers, she reached up to grab the dark grey metal latch and turned it clockwise. The moment she tried to do so, she felt a small window open beneath her head, and her plug retract from the clonal neck port and out of the pod. The window shut back up. She tried to rack her brain for a memory of this instruction. She was given a recording of the step-by-step directive, and nowhere could she remember her plug automatically unplugging itself. This novel feature perplexed her, but she chalked it up to a miscommunicated detail.

When it is time to return, I can just plug back in outside of the pod. Tech support will hear about this. Once I can pay, of course.

She reached for the latch again. It didn't move. She pulled down harder clockwise and tried counterclockwise, but the door wouldn't budge.

It's so cold. Maybe if I press against the door while turning the latch...

Her breath quickened; each inhale caught at the base of her throat at the onset of claustrophobia. Her chest tightened. Her heart pounded out of her chest as she gulped ever-smaller amounts of air into her shaking body, the thump-thump echoed in the constricted pod. She squeezed her eyes shut and started to replay the directions in her mind.

What am I forgetting? There must be some steps or some buttons to push that will spark the hydraulic system to release pressure so the door could open.

She turned her head to the left and right to investigate the pod's interior for a clue or a switch to jog her memory. The clone's brain was clear, alert, and focused, but the correct course of action wouldn't surface. Her breath fogged up the glass inches in front of her face as goosebumps began to form all over her skin. She used the top of her right forearm to create a visible clearing outside of the canopy. Her ocular system recognized the preservation fluid's swish as it sloshed against the sides of the pod, but besides that, all was silent. She lifted her left thumb to her mouth and bit at the nail, a terrible lifelong habit she failed to eliminate from her new genetic code. She could taste the elastic silicone and urethane used to construct her epidermis. She rotated her hand in front of her face to observe her palm and the back. She noted that though she felt like she was submerged in a cold bath, the preservation fluid continued to safeguard the integrity of the skin. Where she would have expected raisin-like wrinkles on the tips of her fingers, was smooth.

I need to remember to journal this experience, so I'll never forget the first transfer.

A creaking from outside the pod interrupted the stillness. She used her forearm to create visibility outside once again of the pod. The door she made sure to close before plugging in appeared ajar.

Am I hallucinating?

She furrowed her brow at the opening. Nothing new materialized or seemed out of place. She observed the lime green towel draped over the recliner where her birth-body still lay.

What is happening? I need to get out of this pod.

She hoped the Initiative headquarters were alerted of her distress and were going to instruct her how to proceed.

She flipped over on her stomach and clawed at the window that was at the base of her neck. It didn't give way. She turned her attention back in front of her, took a big breath, and continued to yank on the latch. Tears began to well in her eyes with every failed attempt.

She didn't see anyone come in or leave the room, but she felt uncomfortable; that she was being watched since noticing the door was open. She cupped her breasts with both hands and crossed her legs to cover herself. Although she couldn't see anyone on the other side, she felt watched by someone or something that unsettled her even more than being trapped.

This can't be happening.

My mind must be trapped in a dream-state in a realm somewhere between my birth-body and clone. I just need to wake up!

The technology is flawless and she was prepared. The man showed her over and over how the latch turned and how easily the door swung open. This malfunction must be a glitch, and Headquarters has been notified of a clone that hasn't moved out. She felt the oblong tracking device right under the skin of her right forearm. The new skin felt waxy and slick.

Calm down and find the exit lever.

She pulled the handle and pushed at the same time, repeatedly, to no avail. They would come for her, she knew it.

Save your energy.

Just as she started to calm down, the pod began to fill with more liquid. She didn't notice at first but then began to feel bubbles on her lower back. The pod was designed to refill itself after each use for sanitation purposes, but she hadn't even left.

How would it possibly know to fill already? It's too soon.

She watched them install a piping system into the floor and test it. It was designed to drain out first. None of this was what was explained to her during the set-up.

HELP! She started to scream and kick at the door as the level began to rise. She cursed herself for not having a caretaker or a supervisor as was offered. She was utterly alone, and now she was going to drown in a foreign body she didn't even get to use out of negligence.

Where did I screw up? Did I trigger some reaction that I wasn't supposed to?

Her eyes widened in fear as she tried to keep her head lifted out of the water. The foot of air was getting smaller and smaller. She pressed down on the bottom of the pod to lift herself higher. Her youthful face pressed against the glass, her nose smashed and cheeks puffy. Her erratic heartbeat pounded as she fought back intense waves of nausea.

As her head submerged into the fluid and gasped for air for the last time, she saw a face she had not seen in decades. The intruder leaned over the pod, his spiny fingers like two starfish mashed on the glass, his fingertips white. She recognized the enormous grin and the eyes filled with loathing. Her eyes widened, and she kicked against the glass, Help me! she yelled, muffled and desperate. Her chest burned as preservation fluid flushed down her throat and stung her nostrils.

The smile never left his face as he shook his head in a resounding 'no.' Before she passed out, she saw him slice the throat of her birth-body.

AVA

Sometimes the anxiety became too much to bear. It was the type of franticness that arose from nowhere but would take hold of my rationality and motor skills in minutes. I found that taking a few walks around the block helped ease my nerves. A chill wind nipped at my face and caused my eyes to water, stinging the inside of my nose at the same time. I wrapped my favorite scarf, a gift from my mother last year on one of the rare birthdays she didn't forget, around the bottom half of my face. I was sitting on the floor of my small one-bedroom apartment when I received the present, blowing out the numbers 2 and 9 -shaped holographic candles on a cake projected on the blank living room wall. Sensing breath, the flickering light ceased its dance, and I was bathed in the quiet darkness. I almost missed the delivery had the blinking red lights and the soft whir from the drone lifting off from my windowsill did not catch my attention. The dim light from the moon reflected off the shiny red paper with a silver bow.

Dammit, I huffed under my breath, applying pressure to the window lever to swing it open. It had been on manual for a week, and the lack of preventative maintenance to the gear caused it to rust up and jam since I moved in the City four years ago. The sole technician in the smart apartment complex had a backlog of repair tickets, and I was nearest the bottom of the waiting list.

::My window is broken:: I had relayed through my homemade Connect2 to the Facilities system.

::A technician will be available for repair Friday, March 10th:: I received.

Two fucking weeks?

::I would really like this made a priority. I have a medical condition that requires me to open the window for fresh air regularly:: I asserted back. The familiar balloon of hot anger rose from deep in my stomach up toward my face.

::We apologize for the inconvenience, but due to the growing number of requests, we have reached capacity for this week. The soonest a technician can respond to your ticket is Friday, March 10th:: the automated response sent. There was no point arguing with a conversational agent, and the new set of technicians weren't trained to tackle these jobs on their own yet.

Frustrated, I smacked the window with my hand, and instead of sliding open as it should with recognition of touch, it remained sealed shut.

Today was no different, and I worked at the lever for several minutes, taking a few breaks to swig wine, to retrieve the package. With a clang like two pieces of metal smacking together loud enough to wake the neighbors, the window swung open. I pressed the blue button on the wall near the refrigerator, raising the kitchen table from under the floor. As expected, the beige two-person table rose from an opening in the tile, and the floor sealed back shut at completion. Undoing the silver bow and opening the box, I was presented with delicate white tissue paper. The fine material barely made a crunching sound as I worked to unwrap the gift to see what was inside.

The tag read, To Ava: May your next year be bright with an abundance of opportunities and happiness. Love, Mom The words seemed generic like she selected it out of canned comments under Gift Options instead of speaking lovingly from the heart. I was thrilled to have received any attention at all. It was an exceptional day indeed.

I took the soft scarf out of the box, a dark navy blue, on the tag read Nocturnal. It would match nicely with everything I wore as I was not adventurous with my wardrobe. No flair. My mother knew that much about me. It was one of the many attributes that she disagreed.

I was jolted awake by this panic attack, gasping for air, cold and clammy, my grey sheets were a dark black underneath me. I didn't know how long I was lying in a pool of my sweat. Deep in REM, the same recurring dream held me captive.

***

The light had trouble traveling through the trees with the plentiful leaves; it scattered like the effects of a prism all along the forest floor, drops of dew shone brilliantly at my feet. The surface of my skin was as moist as the bark on the giants. I stepped carefully to avoid falling in the deep holes created by Man. Using power and drills to rip these natives, roots and all, up from their home of hundreds, even thousands, of years leaving behind nothing but abysmal emptiness to be stripped and crushed. I felt the heaviness and grief that emanated from these holes. Some moments the weight felt too much, the connection to the Earth too powerful and tangible, that I would throw my body onto the cold, wet dirt and sob until my body shook. I heard a howling that was too significant to come from my body, but as I looked around, there was no one else nearby. The remaining trees cried with me. Their leaves shook, and condensation streamed onto my naked body. Scrambling back to my feet, I grabbed a handful of hair to shake out the water and noticed it was black and waist-length. I continued my quest forward.

The scent of sweet-smelling pine guided me along. The Elders told me to follow the trees for they have outlived every generation; they have seen the Creation of Man and survived all the Wars as Nations worked to destroy one another. Throughout the centuries, their roots run deep, and their branches reached high to the Heavens. They are the wisest, for they have heard the secrets whispered in the forest's confines and have stood tall throughout all storms. Humankind in ignorance have sensed their Divine power and made decisions to destroy them, not knowing what they do that it is ultimately themselves that they are destroying.

Always keep your feet on the ground and your eyes toward the sky, I was told by Grandmother, the tan wrinkles on her face moving with her mouth. Smoke billowed from the incense that filled the hut. She continued, The Earth will be your protection. When you fall, it will always be there; the natural elements work together in your favor. Keep this in mind, and you will always succeed. If you work against the Universe and cause resistance to the natural order, you are doomed to fail. It's as easy and as complex as that. You must surrender, and you must stay connected to your truth. If you deny your Dharma, the Earth will push back.

I felt a determination, but my mind was foggy.

What was I looking for? Was I running toward or away from something?

My intuition was telling me just to keep moving forward.

At that moment, I felt the ground beneath me shake, propelling me forward, knocking me off my feet, and facing the ground. Trying to stay steady on my knees, I lifted my hands eye-level. Dark blood trickled down my forearms; my fingers stripped to the bone. Bits of plastic and shrapnel embedded in my palms. Horrified, I turned my gaze down and jumped up to standing. The trees had all but disappeared, and I was fixed in a junkyard. The crisp air I was enjoying before was now dirty. It clouded my lungs like a thick paste. I had jeans on that ripped as I trudged through the trash. The soothing songs of the birds were replaced with honking horns and screaming people. Cell phones lit up as I stepped and echoed out.

Hello? Hello? Are you there? I need to talk to you right now! I need you. Hello? Look at me! Focus on me right now!

I heard vibratory buzzing, beeping, and ringing. My senses became overwhelmed. Dust and soot stained my body.

I can't... I stuttered, I... I just...I need to think...and rest... Sweat formed above my upper lip and dripped down the back of my neck. My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe. The phones continued their chorus.

No thinking! There is no time to think! I need your attention now! Pick me up! – One phone cried. No, pick me up! - Another chimed at my feet. Answer me! Like me! Follow me!

The debris swayed left and right. I struggled to retain footing and tried to ignore the voices.

The pile reached hundreds of miles toward the sky that blocked the sun. The twisted faces of people yelling and cursing from the small phone screens in unison continued to shout, Ava! Fuck you, Ava! Pay attention to me! Don't you like me? Why won't you respond to me?

I felt rumbling beneath my feet as phones started falling away.

Please...I prayed to a God I didn't believe in. What is happening to me?

Crouching low in the trash to hide from the noise, I covered my head with my hands as clothing, billboards, and electronics avalanched down the mountain. The fads of time past roared down and away, replaced by the new and better. As more collateral rolled from the top of the pile, still more massive, the heap rose.

I sunk deeper and deeper into the waste. Help me! I cried as I reached my arms high and desperately clawed at the debris even though there was no one there to lend a helping hand. I took one last gulp of air as I submerged.

It is at this point in the dream where I am always jolted awake. Clairvoyants say if you die in your dreams that you will die in real life. This dream was always so lucid, so real, but no matter how hard I try to shift the course, maybe run the other way in the forest...I am always ensnared with the same outcome. It feels like certain death every time, but I wake up right before.

***

The rhythmic sound of my footsteps hitting the concrete provided an external mantra to sway the nightmare from my thoughts. To avoid a meltdown, I directed my breath to each step, just as my therapist suggested.

Inhale right foot down, exhale left foot down, inhale right foot down...

Before long, my pulse lessened to a solid beat, and my shoulders softened down my back.

I savored the relaxation. Nearing a park bench, I decided to take a seat and enjoy the night air just a little while longer. I was only four blocks from my apartment, but it felt like I had entered another world. I performed a grounding exercise (therapist approved) that served me well during these anxiety attacks.

Five things I can see...I looked around at my surroundings and locked my eyes on a lone bush with dead brittle leaves, my worn black tennis shoes with grey laces, a delivery drone on the windowsill of a third-story apartment, an outdated transcriber...

Oh! I will pocket that one.

I be nt down under the bench to retrieve the old, discarded tech. I continued with the exercise to observe a rusted sign that pointed the way to the subway with red and black graffiti drawings across the street I couldn't make out.

Four things I can touch... My scavenger hunt ongoing, I felt the silk scarf tickle my face in the breeze, the cold splintering lumber of the park bench, dots of mist landing on my hands, and a jagged crack in the concrete poking my shoes beneath me.

Three things I can smell...Garbage, a slight twinge of burning from solar panels lining the streets, and more lingering waste.

It was if it was by fate that I found myself in one of the few serene areas in the City. I recalled from my dream the forest and how taken care of I felt by Nature. With only ten steps, I could walk the diameter from one side of the park to the other. The bench took up half of the common area, and I fixed my eyes on the small, cracked fountain in the center. It was covered with dark moss and the water long dried up. The woman sculpted into the stone gazed up at the sky with longing; she looked sad and abandoned, deep crevices split from her forehead down the front of her body. And there was grass! I removed my shoes and clinched my toes in the small lawn a few feet ahead of the concrete walkway. Walking over to the lone fountain, I reached in and plucked a few pieces of trash from the bowl. The streets were asleep with just a few stragglers moving about. They were stumbling home from a late night at the Hydro-Pub, the chain bar that dispensed liquor from automated spouts. There was one on every block open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

A small childhood playground set with only two swings stood at the far end of the park.

Solar-powered streetlamps emitted a soft glow. The light glistened off the foot of fog that was forming from the ground up. I made my way back to the bench and slipped my flats back on. I glanced at the bottom of my left forearm.

::Time:: I sent out.

2:47 glowed red from underneath the surface of my skin. I left the apartment at 2:00. Deciding it was time to head back and try to catch a few more hours of (hopefully) uninterrupted sleep, I heard a shout from the cross-street ahead.

Take that! I heard a male voice say, followed by the cacophony of laughter.

I tilted my head to the left to raise my ear toward where I heard it come. Immediately overtaken by curiosity, my legs started lurching toward the disturbance taking my whole body with them. It was probably nothing, but I wanted to make sure that no one was in trouble.

I can just take a small peek around the corner.

I convinced myself that being nosy was nothing to worry about; I can see what's going on this late and not get involved.

I walked swiftly toward the stoplight, and as I approached the four-way stop, the blur of red that I was registering about ten feet back came clearly into focus.

I need to make an appointment with the eye doctor soon.

From the intersection, I looked down the street to my right, where I heard the voices. Crowded around, I saw three larger males in tattered clothes, yelling down toward the concrete and beating on something.

Get it, Boss! one of the men encouraged. He sounded whiny and nasally compared to the first voice.

I upped my pace and started to run toward the group as I began to realize what the recipient of the attack was: Hey! Stop that!

So much for not getting involved

One of the thugs lifted his leg and went in for another kick. When I heard the metal and the distressed beeping sound, I knew that they were beating up on an old robot. Gangs in the area were notorious for picking on (and apart) old artificial intelligence machines that were either defective or retired from service when a newer version was released. If they weren't adopted into homes, they usually hid down the dark alleyways and wouldn't come out until they could be concealed by night. I hated bullies.

Leave it alone! I yelled as I approached them, right now! The largest of the three picked up the robot and was ready to land another punch.

When he heard me, he stopped his swing in midair and turned to look toward my direction. His face was covered in black fabric, and his yellow, wet eyes bore holes through me. Without removing his gaze, he dropped the robot to the street with a sickening crack. He towered over the other two, and especially me. Standing at the height of at least six foot four, I reconsidered this rescue attempt, but only for a moment. I couldn't let him see that I was scared of him. I made myself appear bigger by rolling my shoulders back and lifting my chin.

Fuck these guys.

One of the thugs broke the silence, Yo' boss, how do you want to handle this? He spits the words toward me as if 'this 'was a 'me' they needed to set straight. He was considerably shorter than the ringleader, closer to my height of five-foot-eight and wore a beanie too big for his head. It was loose and bunched on the tops of his gigantic ears. The other one was lanky with eyes that darted back and forth. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet anxiously. He laughed under his breath like he heard a joke that none of us did. Tweakers.

The husky guy turned both of his shoulders square in my direction. He narrowed his eyes and scanned me up and down. What's a little girl like you doing out so late? he sneered, balling his fists at his sides. His words came out muffled through the face mask.

I took a breath and with as much courage as I could muster shot back defiantly, Walk away from the robot right now and get out of here. The victim wasn't moving on the pavement, its initializing button blinking a dull blue and making barely audible drawn-out beeps.

Hang in there just a bit longer, little guy.

He let out a guttural laugh. Didn't your mama teach you not to approach strange men on the streets at night? Are you asking for trouble? He took a step toward me, and his henchmen followed. As uncomfortable as I was getting internally, I tried not to let it show. I stood up taller.

I wasn't sure what to do from here, so I lifted my hands and took a lunge at him. He stepped back, surprised, and immediately straightened up to save face. What the fuck was that?

I will tell you one more time. I need to repair the damage you have done to this robot before it dies because of YOU. I am going to give you three seconds before I connect to ROGR. They would be here within minutes, so don't even think about trying to attack me, I threatened, ready to transmit a distress signal through my Connect2. I placed two fingers on my right arm and traced the implant directly underneath the epidermis.

He got so close to my face I could smell the alcohol on his hot breath. I scrunched my nose and glared into his eyes, daring him to try anything. The Robotic Orderliness Governance Response despised thugs. They were programmed to have a zero-tolerance policy for troublemakers of any kind. They would not be treated nicely during interrogation, and they knew it. They especially didn't stand for ones assaulting their kind.

Come on, Boss, I'm bored of all this, the beanie guy urged, And tired as fuck! Let's go! The doped-up one nodded in agreement. Yeah, yeah, let's just get out of here! I can't go to no jail tonight! Though they were speaking English, their accents were mixed, and I couldn't decipher with what.

German with Persian?

I pondered. Whatever it was, it was an odd combo.

He pointed a finger and lifted it to my face. I froze in fear. Enunciating every word, he said, You are very lucky that I'm feeling generous tonight. I do not back down usually, but this time I'm going to let you go, he ran his finger along my cheek. I flinched at his icy touch, "if I didn't have a bitch to go home to right