The block of programs streamed in the early evening, on Sundays. It was a clever ploy by World Media to require people to drop everything in order to watch episodes of three cascading programs, in a time when everything—even breaking news—was posted to be viewed when convenient. Instead, World promoted the triple-feature as a reason to entertain, to have friends over for drinks and a bite to eat.

The evening began with the latest Path of Discovery post, straight from Mars and hosted by Elizabeth Nasri—each one imaginative and entertaining in its own rite, but still rooted in scientific inquiry. The follow-up program, Explorations, went farther afield in its portrayal of the culture. Using the latest in special effects, their visualizations portrayed a glorious, virtuous society of muscular, intelligent, and artistic people. In a tip of the hat to truth, the program interspersed the vibrant, realistic tableaus with commentary by World Media's own cadre of experts, who validated the visualizations using the images of environments and artifacts sent by the Mars Habitat crew. Finally, late enough for the small children to have been sent to bed, came Red Planet, a tawdry drama of political and sexual intrigue between ruling families along the lava tubes. Together, the programs gave every viewer, no matter their bent, a utopia neatly packaged to create a worldwide desire for lifestyle products focused on emulating the Martians. It was straight out of Triche’s playbook.

...

Patrick watched Z’s latest show before sending it on to World Media. He knew he was mixing the real with the dramatized but he saw it as a fair trade: by letting World Media run Path of Discovery as a segment at the beginning of Explorations, he gave fuel to their fantasies while NASA reaped a passionate, global audience. The block of programs had the effect of a euphoric drug on the imaginations of people around the world, and despite the differences in approach, Z’s real life explorations began to blend in people’s minds with the fantastical creations of the other two programs. With her brown skin and black hair, the public perceived Z almost like an emissary of the Martians, sent forward in time to help enlighten the people of Earth.

As he watched Z lead the pocket drone into a high-domed plaza, he could see her happiness in being the chief investigator of the Martian culture. Thanks to the lighter, unshielded EVA suits she could wear underground, the viewers could watch her embellish her storytelling with gestures and body language. It was no wonder that the world was transfixed by her personality; her joy as a storyteller was captivating. Patrick paused the recording just as the drone flew close to Z for her sign-off. Through the light reflections on her glass helmet his gaze lingered on her white smile, traced her cheekbones, and fell into the blackness of her eyes.

...

Inside Habitat 3A, Z packed-up another group of artifacts to take back to the ship. The ghosts she had seen when wearing the headpiece kept drifting into her thoughts. She tried to remember details of their actions and expressions in order to divine any meaning she could about the lost inhabitants and better reimagine them in her recordings for Path. She desperately wanted to confess to wearing the headpiece and reaping its visualization powers so her audience could understand there was a basis for her descriptions. She knew it could be dangerous, but she needed to wear one again so she could observe the Martians with a clearer head. She was unsure if NASA would risk that. She unlocked the box that contained them, reached in, felt the smooth coolness of the disc-shaped temple stones. Then she got on the comm.

“I'm going to scope out the next Path of Discovery. I'll be down Tunnel A in Room 10, maybe 12.” She carefully placed her gloves and helmet in front of her where she could find them, even if she couldn't see them. She carefully picked-up the headpiece, placed it across her forehead and felt her eyes roll back in their sockets. A second or two later, when her eyes had rolled back down, Z reached for ghostly apparitions in the place her gloves and helmet had been, and walked to where the airlock door had been. Around her, she saw the same layers of semi-transparent scenes, some from the present, many from the past. She saw the same rows of people in EVA suits, waiting to board vehicles. They chattered in their language, some sobbed and over it all was the whine and rumble of machinery.

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Z walked from the Hab across the Terminal, hoping that none of her team would notice her, as she could only barely see them. She could see Martians, although they didn't appear to see her. She weaved between person after person, past groups in discussions, past workers pressing buttons on virtual controls that she could now see, by way of her headpiece. A handful of people walked along with her toward Tunnel A and the Conveyor. She took up the rhythmic stride of the Martians and stepped between the parallel lines. A few people talked and there were several unintelligible announcements in her ear. The headpiece pressed against her temples and was beginning to give her a headache, but all in all it was not as much of a shock as the first time she had put it on.

As she approached the Chandelier Room, she stepped slightly to the right, slowed, and entered the doorway. Wearing the headpiece, the room became vibrant with colorful decoration. Ghosted flags and banners hung from the walls and a thin carpet of gold and silver led down the center of the room. A man with kinky silver hair stood at an open box beneath the platform. He worked slowly and delicately. As Z descended the stairs, she worried that she might distract him, but quickly remembered that the other Martians she had seen had not reacted to her.

Though he was old, he still appeared strong and certain. His bronze skin showed just the beginning of wrinkles. He wore broad-legged pants and a waist coat, on which were various designs in gold thread. As she approached to look over his shoulder, she saw what he was working on: he was attaching temple stones to the last of three headpieces. Finished, he abruptly turned to face Z. It gave her a start, but then he walked through her, carrying the headpieces across the room to the box on the shelf behind the thrones. There, he kissed each one reverently and placed it inside.

When he closed the lid, a wall in the alcove swung back to reveal a small chamber. He entered and Z followed. But she stopped at the doorway, uncertain what was real and what was projection. What if the door closed behind her and she was trapped? So she peered in from the doorway as the man took a seat at a table on which virtual controls appeared. He began to draw on it as Z leaned-in only so far that she could still back out should the door shut unexpectedly. Then, he looked up from the desk and turned his gaze in her direction. Z suddenly felt a wave of adrenaline flow through her body. Her heart raced and her senses tingled with apprehension. He stood, and held up his hand as if to calm her. He, too, wore a headpiece but his was different. It was tarnished pewter in color and, in addition to the temple stones, carried an inset gem at the third eye position of the forehead. Then he took a step directly toward her.

Is this real? What should I do? What will he do? If I leave, will I miss something? she quickly thought as she readied for flight, if necessary. Unexpectedly the guidance from the White House popped into her head. Remember, gestures that may look hostile to us may not, in fact, be hostile. Z stepped back cautiously as he approached. Nothing he had done appeared hostile, but nevertheless, she didn't want to be in a small chamber alone with him so she stepped back to where the headpieces were stored. There, he approached the box, turned to her and began to speak in a burbling flow, with an occasional glutaral stop. He looked earnestly into her eyes, then waved his hand across the box of headpieces. Then he smiled and nodded his head to her.

Z reached out with her gloved hand to touch his arm. It went right through. No flesh, only illusion—or a life form Earthlings had not conceived of, or a cleverly intelligent projection. The illusion walked past her, back toward the staircases. As Z stood rigid, watching, he stopped, gracefully turned toward her and beckoned. She did as he requested and side-by-side they walked across the room on the gilded carpet beneath the chandeliers, toward the staircases. There he gestured that it was time for Z to go.

When she returned to the Terminal, the other crew members were, thankfully, too occupied to notice her. Z could just make out the ghost of the Hab and the airlock. As soon as the interior door had shut behind her and the dedusting had finished, she removed her helmet and gloves and then carefully lifted the headpiece from her forehead. For good measure, she kissed it reverently and placed it back in its box.