The house was dark except for the glow from city lights across the bay. Lucius Kellogg stood at the window; gazing at the city and the water. The change of light across the sky and its reflections in the ebb tide were a soothing backdrop for his ruminations. He had hoped the ThreadBands would be in the marketplace prior to the elections and had to concede that, even without Martian technology, the crude imitation could have provided him with a direct communications channel to Marked people throughout the United States. The ThreadBands were ready, but the upheaval at Logisen and Julius’ horrible act of self-debasement on screen would insure the failure of any launch.
He had made a mistake in not trying to understand this Nasri woman. He had left that to Ross, and Ross had bungled it. There is a point at which might comes up against the will of people who believe. Mere might can inflict damage, but it eventually fails against the indefatigable force of will. He had watched the video of her first interactions with the headpiece, but had only seen it as a process of electronics linking with her brain. Neither he nor Ross had ever considered that, in doing so, it might have opened-up a new world to her.
He had clearly seen Ross’ shortcomings. Flamboyance, self-satisfaction, arrogance. He should have heeded the warning signs: the aggrandizement of one individual creates a keystone that, when removed, collapses the arch. Kellogg nodded to himself: Nasri had seen it.
If he ever wanted his plan to succeed, he would need to salvage Logisen and put the ThreadBand into the capable hands of the leader who sells the idea, then steps out of the way to let others do the heavy lifting.
...
Ratham was on his way into the lab when his earpiece buzzed. He could see on his tablet that it was the PR director for Telmara.
“Did you hear the news? Did you watch the show?”
Ratham had watched the program stream that morning. “I did. I’m not concerned. Ross had no immediate influence over Telmara. I checked global sales before I left; all is well. In fact, sales should go up: Elizabeth Nasri just exposed a phony using a Telmara kit. Yes, all is well.”
The autonomous sped down the thoroughfare toward the manufacturing lab.
...
Celeste had seen Z wear the Martian outfit on stage—the very design that had been worn by that regal woman in the mural on Mars—and she had found an expert tailor to recreate it. The re-creation was beautiful, but Celeste looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. It didn’t have the same impact that it had with Z. Her dark hair and skin had perfectly balanced the unbleached white cloth. And the headpiece… like a crown for a new queen! Celeste reached to her dresser top and brought the ThreadBand to her forehead. She slid it over her ears, placed the disks over her temples and caught a light flare from the thin glass screen in the upper portion of her field of vision. There.
Celeste slowly turned in front of the mirror and took-in her likeness. She had done her best to mimic Z’s graceful stature, but she had to admit that with her blond hair and fair skin she looked like a washed-out version of the woman she admired. Well, that can be addressed, she noted. “I can become like a lighter twin sister.” She smiled at herself and touched her ThreadBand to request the autonomous.
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The main auditorium at The Woodley School reverberated with the energetic conversations of three hundred Marked students. When Celeste ascended the stairs to the podium, the hall went quiet. It was special to have Celeste Woodley address them.
Celeste thought of Z facing the crowd at the convention and tried to channel Z’s calm, patient demeanor. Before her were the spirits waiting to be directed. Before her sat the future leaders that The Woodley School would produce. Intelligent. Grounded. Orderly. “Perform like athletes, reason like philosophers, and lead like generals,” she recited to herself.
“You may have heard of this band I’m wearing. A few of you may have seen your parents wearing it—the special ones who were chosen for the first test. They are a gift from our Martian ancestors. They are the next step toward all of us truly sharing in their knowledge.”
While Celeste paused to take in the anticipation she felt in the room, several volunteer parents took their places at the ends of the rows, holding boxes filled with ThreadBands.
“They were supposed to be in stores for the fall, but instead will be in your hands for a special trial before they come out next spring.” Celeste gestured to the parents to distribute the contents of the boxes. “When you get your ThreadBand, slip it on, taking care to place the discs—the stones—over your temples.” Celeste knew the discs didn’t really connect to their brains; they didn’t do anything more than conduct audio into the bone of the skull and hold the ThreadBand in position, but she wanted the students to believe they were wearing a device close to the real thing. “The ThreadBand will connect you with other Marked people; you’ll make friends; you’ll go wherever you want to go. Just pay attention to what it tells you.”
The students dutifully placed the ThreadBands across their foreheads and waited. In data centers around the world, the signals from three hundred devices were being compared to Telmara test results, identifying individuals, seeking out archives of images and personal notes, and correlating all with tracking information to create histories. Within milliseconds, the data records of the students at The Woodley School were amassed and each person cross-referenced by proximity to and affinity with those around them. The Sentient Systems AI at Logisen plotted millions of potential interactions and outcomes leading students to the gifts that had been hidden around the school. It initiated a plan, which crossed the global network in an instant and appeared as customized instructions on the eyescreens and in the earpieces of the students’ ThreadBands.
In a burst of adolescent joy, the young adults jumped to their feet, turned and slapped hands, giggled and talked to their devices and to the people around them. Then, without context some students ran out the front door toward the playing fields while others went into the classrooms. Celeste smiled and began walking toward one of the classrooms. A parent who had volunteered to help distribute the ThreadBands walked quickly to catch up with her.
“What is happening, Celeste? Is this normal or did something go wrong?”
Celeste glanced at her. “It’s a game of breadcrumbs.”
Just then, a student burst through the classroom doorway holding a storage cell and yelling, “I got it. I sooo wanted this game module!” Across the hall, a girl had collapsed onto the floor, tears in her eyes. Another girl whispered in her ear, hugged her, and then clasped a necklace around her neck.
“What is this, Celeste?”
“It’s their first interaction with a networked world. It’s a game that teaches them to follow the ThreadBand’s suggestions and be rewarded.”
“Is this all it can do?”
Celeste knelt down beside the two girls and softly spoke to them. “Have you been made happy?” They looked at each other, then beamed back and pulled Celeste into armfuls of hugs. “Oh so much!” they replied.
Celeste pulled ever so slightly away from them and looked back and forth into their faces. “Remember, always do what it suggests and you will be made happy.”