The autonomous stopped in front of Patrick’s house and he stepped out into the warm Pasadena night, still fragrant with trees and flowers even in fall. As he opened the gate a voice called from across the street, behind him.
“Patrick!”
Patrick turned to see the silhouette of a stocky man, who took a step toward him. Patrick was looking for him to produce a gun but instead the man put his hands in the air.
“Patrick. It’s me, Sefa. I need to talk to you.”
“Now?” Patrick stepped into the street to get a closer look at his visitor. “What do you want, Sefa?”
“Let’s get off the street and I’ll tell you.”
The two men walked into the living room and Sefa asked, “Do you have any tablets or phones or screens in the room?”
“Yeah, of course. They're all secure, though.”
“How secure?”
“Top secret encryption.”
Sefa considered the risk potential for a long second. “Let's step out on the deck anyway.”
Patrick felt a twinge of insult at the suggestion his house might be porous, but he followed Sefa out on the deck.
Sefa began, “Have you seen the sales figures for the Telmara test kit?”
“Yes. They’re all over the news.”
“There are more sales than are being reported.”
Patrick leaned toward Sefa. “By that you mean...”
“There is an unreported channel of sales to companies and governments around the world. It sounds odd to admit at this point, but the advertising we've been creating about a link between the variant and intellect is getting a lot of attention. We've spread this message about mental and physical performance and, depending on who you are as a leader or whether you are Marked or not, you either want to surround yourself with Marked subordinates or...”
“You want to lock them up to protect your power.”
“Here's the scary thing: we don't know that there's a link. The entire ad campaign is the idea of an agency in Singapore. It's a strategy they’ve used on different products that’s based on Chinese political strategy.”
“But this whole thing with testing Voltaire and Churchill and the others....”
“That's just another part of the campaign..”
Patrick grimaced. “You guys made it all up. And governments are reorganizing based on it. Sefa, do you realize how crazy this is?”
“Yes I do. But it feeds the bottom line. Telomics is making the Martian variant the core brand focus. Telmara is a guaranteed success at this point, and if every employee is Marked, they can credit that success to Marked employees. All employees have been required to take the test—free of course. I came back negative.”
“And because you’re negative, you're out? But you’re the goose that laid the golden egg.”
“They own the test. All I did was follow the data to Mars. So, first they'll be nice. They'll keep the Earthling around. But somewhere along the way, funding for my research will mysteriously get diverted. And then, one day, there just won't be any work for me anymore. They won't crush me, they'll just push the pillow down on my face to muffle the asphyxiation.”
“Sefa. That’s pretty dark.”
“Something’s going on, here. Elizabeth knows.”
“How do you know Z?”
“I don’t. But I need to know how to contact her.”
Patrick was thrown for a second. What else was Z mixed-up in? “Who do you know, Sefa?”
“I can’t tell you. But I know that NASA has ‘advisors’ with red pins who are starting to decide who is in and who is out. Have you seen income trends for Marked and unmarked?”
“No.”
“What do you think the trends show?”
“It shows that Marked incomes are rising and unmarked are stagnant.”
“No, actually it’s Marked rising, unmarked falling. How do you think that happens so quickly? Invisible, coordinated networks everywhere.”
“Ok, you are right. This is dark.”
“Insidious, Patrick. And it’s reaching into NASA—because that’s where the headpieces are. Control craves more control. There’s a lot at stake here.” Sefa heaved a giant sigh that moved his whole body. “I can help you and Elizabeth, if you want it. I need to get a message to her.”
Patrick looked down into the darkness of his yard and thought for a few seconds. "Give me a day to sort this out. Too much information.”
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Sefa took a step back inside from the deck. “I have to go. Think about it and let me know.” He was halfway across the living room when he stopped and turned around. “Do you know if you’re Marked?”
“People keep asking me that. I haven’t got a clue. It’s not important to me.”
“It makes a difference to some people. If you are unmarked, Patrick, you can be sure someone has their eyes on your job with Mars Habitat.” Sefa gave Patrick a long, weary look. “I have to sleep. Thanks for seeing me.” Sefa trudged through the living room and before he went out the front door, left a final entreaty. “I need to contact Elizabeth.”
Patrick watched the front door close and immediately walked to where his tablet lay. He had to ask Z about what Sefa had implied. Then, starting to dial, he remembered Sefa’s questioning of his security and put down the device. “Tomorrow. In person,” he said to himself.
...
The next day, Patrick walked past Z’s office three different times, hoping he would find her. Her schedule said she would be in, but after a little sleuthing he learned she had left a message with the department coordinator that she would be gone for two days on a site survey for Path. For weeks, Path of Discovery had occupied Z while prototyping continued with her team. Most of the time, she was on a soundstage nearby, acting out scenes for the show—which meant her tablet was never close at hand. At times, her agent knew more about her whereabouts than he did, so that was who he called.
The assistant was pleasant, as always, and after he had identified himself and asked if Z was in LA or out of town she had put him on hold. He knew that he had been voice-printed and that they were analyzing the print for digital artifacts indicating a voice synthesizer. When his identity had been authenticated, she would come back onto the line.
“Ms Nasri is with a producer, in London. Do you need me to get a secure message to her?”
“Not necessary, thanks.” Patrick hung up. The entertainment industry had more security than the Secret Service. Intellectual property rights and deep fakes had made it a requirement. He knew full-well that London meant she was at Logisen. What did Z know? he wondered.
...
Z sat with the producer in the spacious autonomous provided by Logisen. Conveyance through the city, out to the Ross Estate in Henley would be fast and flawless—after all, control was Logisen’s profit model. Enroute, the producer went over the shot list; it was very different than the other shows Z had been involved with, but actually it was a very standard shot list for a celebrity profile—a lot of what they called B-roll that Z would narrate to back in the studio. Z was there today, at the request of Julius Ross, to go over his interview. That was a task usually handled by the producer, but Ross had stipulated that his involvement—and payment—was contingent on a pre-meeting with Nasri.
The autonomous pulled up to the entrance of the ornate Gothic mansion and the producer stepped out, while Z waited in the car. After a few minutes discussion with Alonzo, the producer motioned to Z and she stepped out. The producer and Alonzo met her.
“Hello, Alonzo. Marked. Nice to see you again.”
“And to welcome you, again,” he replied, with a nod of his head.
“We’ll be going around the side,” the producer said, gesturing toward a gate.
Z was puzzled. “But won’t we be shooting inside the house?”
Alonzo replied, “Mr. Ross doesn’t allow any cameras or recording equipment inside his home. We’ll be shooting the interview on the back lawn. You’ll have a stunning view of the house as your backdrop.”
They walked along a path of decomposed granite to the gate, and through that, around the side of the house. Before them stretched hundreds of acres of green, grassy hills and forests. Near the house were formal gardens and a manicured lawn the size of an arena. Z took-in the setting: the rolling hills, the garden, the house, the dedicated personal assistant, and the lordly way of life. Every second of every day, she reminded herself, he made money off of every city in Europe and the Americas. Her gaze lingered on the vista.
“That is not all mine,” Julius called from behind her. “A neighbor owns that far plot of grassland.”
Z kept her gaze on the horizon. How odd the word ‘neighbor’ sounded when associated with a landowner 1,000 yards away. She turned and watched Julius walk toward them from the house. He was dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks. His hair was neatly parted, teeth white as refined sugar. He introduced himself to the producer and then dispatched her with Alonzo to work out the details of the shoot. Julius smiled broadly and put out his hand.
“I’m glad to see you again, Elizabeth. This will be an interesting interview.”
Z shook his hand and lit up her best media asset smile. “I hope it will be.”
Julius smiled back. “Oh it is.” He paused to study her face, “You, of all people, should know that I never interview people when and how they expect it.”
“Oh?”
“Did you and Mr. Dunlap enjoy the tour?”
“It was more than I expected.”
“And yet you could make it so much more. My first question is, how badly do you want to return to the City of Spirits?”
“I plan on it.”
“And what do you think the chances are that NASA will send you back on the next mission?”
“I can’t speculate, but I feel I have a chance.”
He looked past her shoulder. “You know how unusual that would be. NASA has never sent an astronaut on two successive missions.”
“Your point?”
“I don’t think you have any chance at all of being sent back.”
“Then I go on the follow-up mission—”
“Ever.” Julius added abruptly. He could see the puzzlement on Z’s face. She really believed she had a chance of going back, he realized. “NASA will never send you back. You are worth more to them here on Earth than you are in space. They may string you along, but the truth is that NASA never concentrates notoriety or control of their exploration in one astronaut. It is a team effort, Elizabeth, a team with only one captain: NASA administration.”
“I’ll ask this again: your point?”
“My point is: you can play by NASA’s rules and never have a chance of returning, or you can accept my offer and have a guaranteed seat on the next mission.”
“So you want me to be your eyes on Mars.”
“I want you to help Logisen succeed on Mars. And that would begin on Earth, with you providing us access to your headpiece—the one you have worn, the one you know works. We need time for some non-destructive investigations. Elizabeth, you’ve seen Ares. You know the potential of our work.”
Elizabeth turned her back to Julius to look again across the countryside. He was right; she had seen the potential in Ares. As Dunlap had said, maybe the Martians lived-on in the culture Oros was creating. And Julius was offering her a guaranteed return to Mars. More than she had received from Sharp. “I want some autonomy. I have to be in control of my exploration.”
“You’ll have it. If you partner with me, I expect you to be all-in. I won’t order you around, provided you deliver. Maybe Logisen will use your show transmissions to send encoded messages and data.”
Z’s gaze wandered across the rolling hills. This was a more truthful negotiation than she would ever get from Sharp. All she had to do was say Yes, or No and her future was decided—no posturing necessary. Without turning back to face him, she whispered, “How much time do you need?”