have a bunch more
totally non-cleared conversations to have about our classified,
Toppo-Secreto-projecto. Just let me get out of your way.”
As he bid him farewell, Schaffer made sure to
emphasize Pollock’s name.
Once again using that wrong, politically
incorrect pronunciation.
“Close the door behind you, Polack .”
After he hung up his office phone, Hunter
Kennerly took out his cellphone. While he started a call, he walked
across the office to close his door. He hit the send button, closed
the door, headed toward the window, and used his fingers to
separate two of the blinds so he could peer through them. A couple
of well-built guys were tossing a football in the quad below. One
had a nice, thick ass.
The person he called answered , but Hunter spoke before his friend had a chance.
“You’re never going to fucking believe this
shit, bud.”
Hunter smirked while he leered at the built
jock’s ass.
After a moment came the response from a
familiar , monotone, computerized
voice.
“Now what?”
Four days later, Hunter Kennerly was being
escorted into the lab, planked on either side by Schaffer and
Pollock. He could immediately tell he liked Pollock more; Schaffer
seemed to have a stick up his ass, which was firmly attached to the
chip on his shoulder. Hunter knew the game and although he didn’t
know what the show was yet, he could already tell Schaffer
considered himself to be the one running the show.
All he needed to do was validate Schaffer
while giving Pollock the occasional knowing glance. Military guys
were easy, especially the ones who thought they were smart. His dad
was a military guy, and his dad was easy, and he was pretty sure
his dad was a lot smarter than those two knuckle-draggers.
“I thought I’d never make it through all that
paperwork,” Hunter joked to cut the silence.
“Yeah, they want to make sure you sign away
your soul before they let you use the bathroom around here,”
Schaffer offered in return.
“Right, well I’m glad my clearance went
through so quickly. I have to say I’m damn curious what the
Department of Defense could possibly want from me.”
“It’s not so much what we want from you but
what we need,” Pollock interjected. He quickened his pace a bit and
wondered why he always ended up falling behind; he wasn’t that damn
short.
“I stand corrected,” Hunter replied while he
scanned the lab.
He made note of everything in the lab, as if
he might need to recall it in a second’s notice. Not unlike the way
people were instructed to readily memorize specifics of a fake
mugging, after which they’d get drilled for the details.
Heh, drilled.
They led him to a conference room in the back
of the lab , which contained only a table,
six chairs, a whiteboard, and a water-cooler . Schaffer and Pollock took turns explaining why
Hunter was brought there. The two military scientists described
what they needed from him, without disclosing anything about the
nature of Veil. They made sure not to divulge any impertinent
information at all. After they gave as adequate an explanation as
they could, they opened the floor up to Hunter.
His immediate response was disconcerting.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, but
what I can’t understand is why in the world anyone would ever want
to do that.”
Schaffer and Pollock gawked at each
other.
Not quite the response they expected … or
hoped to hear.
Hunter spent the rest of the afternoon
educating the two military scientists about why their goal simply
wasn’t achievable, and how it would likely never be possible. He
suggested that they certainly must have realized it was impossible
to “remotely deploy” neuroelectricity. Just like there was no way
to charge an electrical device without plugging it into, or
otherwise making contact with, a source of electricity. That
couldn’t be news to them. Right?
It wasn’t as if one could shoot
neuroelectricity, or any electricity for that
totally non-cleared conversations to have about our classified,
Toppo-Secreto-projecto. Just let me get out of your way.”
As he bid him farewell, Schaffer made sure to
emphasize Pollock’s name.
Once again using that wrong, politically
incorrect pronunciation.
“Close the door behind you, Polack .”
After he hung up his office phone, Hunter
Kennerly took out his cellphone. While he started a call, he walked
across the office to close his door. He hit the send button, closed
the door, headed toward the window, and used his fingers to
separate two of the blinds so he could peer through them. A couple
of well-built guys were tossing a football in the quad below. One
had a nice, thick ass.
The person he called answered , but Hunter spoke before his friend had a chance.
“You’re never going to fucking believe this
shit, bud.”
Hunter smirked while he leered at the built
jock’s ass.
After a moment came the response from a
familiar , monotone, computerized
voice.
“Now what?”
Four days later, Hunter Kennerly was being
escorted into the lab, planked on either side by Schaffer and
Pollock. He could immediately tell he liked Pollock more; Schaffer
seemed to have a stick up his ass, which was firmly attached to the
chip on his shoulder. Hunter knew the game and although he didn’t
know what the show was yet, he could already tell Schaffer
considered himself to be the one running the show.
All he needed to do was validate Schaffer
while giving Pollock the occasional knowing glance. Military guys
were easy, especially the ones who thought they were smart. His dad
was a military guy, and his dad was easy, and he was pretty sure
his dad was a lot smarter than those two knuckle-draggers.
“I thought I’d never make it through all that
paperwork,” Hunter joked to cut the silence.
“Yeah, they want to make sure you sign away
your soul before they let you use the bathroom around here,”
Schaffer offered in return.
“Right, well I’m glad my clearance went
through so quickly. I have to say I’m damn curious what the
Department of Defense could possibly want from me.”
“It’s not so much what we want from you but
what we need,” Pollock interjected. He quickened his pace a bit and
wondered why he always ended up falling behind; he wasn’t that damn
short.
“I stand corrected,” Hunter replied while he
scanned the lab.
He made note of everything in the lab, as if
he might need to recall it in a second’s notice. Not unlike the way
people were instructed to readily memorize specifics of a fake
mugging, after which they’d get drilled for the details.
Heh, drilled.
They led him to a conference room in the back
of the lab , which contained only a table,
six chairs, a whiteboard, and a water-cooler . Schaffer and Pollock took turns explaining why
Hunter was brought there. The two military scientists described
what they needed from him, without disclosing anything about the
nature of Veil. They made sure not to divulge any impertinent
information at all. After they gave as adequate an explanation as
they could, they opened the floor up to Hunter.
His immediate response was disconcerting.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, but
what I can’t understand is why in the world anyone would ever want
to do that.”
Schaffer and Pollock gawked at each
other.
Not quite the response they expected … or
hoped to hear.
Hunter spent the rest of the afternoon
educating the two military scientists about why their goal simply
wasn’t achievable, and how it would likely never be possible. He
suggested that they certainly must have realized it was impossible
to “remotely deploy” neuroelectricity. Just like there was no way
to charge an electrical device without plugging it into, or
otherwise making contact with, a source of electricity. That
couldn’t be news to them. Right?
It wasn’t as if one could shoot
neuroelectricity, or any electricity for that
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