Scene 12

“CO2 scrubbers. As far as I can tell,” Marcus says.

“So their theory is someone didn’t replace a cartridge, so a thousand people all died in their sleep?” Aion asks as if that weren’t completely ridiculous.

“It’s the most coherent claim I could find.” Marcus shrugs. “Other posts claim bubonic plague or that the colony was swept away by a gigantic sandstorm. One of the most popular threads claimed everyone was alive and well—but would soon be wiped off the face of the planet by an asteroid sent by God to punish the wicked.”

“I find that difficult to believe, given that he co-signed all those pardons. Unless—you don’t suppose the President might have been lying about that?”

“All in all, this looks like a dead end,” Marcus finishes.

“It’s not,” Aion says, “Watch this.”

Aion begins streaming to the channel. Marcus watches as Aion pulls up a post claiming the colonists died from “killer bees that escaped the Ag bay” and replies.

But how did the bees transit the Voight-Kampff manifold without re-integrating the polarization of their electron spin?

“I think Osterman actually mentioned bees once, but I’m pretty sure he said they weren’t bringing any to Mars. At least not yet.”

“Correct.” Aion sounds amused. “That’s the point.”

A reply appears before Aion’s even finished talking. A long incoherent rambling post confidently explaining why the “Voight-Kampff manifold doesn’t affect electron spin in members of order Hymenoptera.”

“Stupid bots. I basically told them it was a test and they still failed. Can’t help themselves. Let’s see if my report is finished.” Aion switches tabs.

Marcus scans the text. A list of accounts, a few Marcus recognizes from #BreathlessOnMars conversations, color coded and assigned percentages. Mostly low. Mostly red.

“What does authenticity mean in this context?” he asks.

“This tool uses account history, post content, location and a bunch of other factors to assign everyone in the conversation an authenticity score. Higher scores are more likely to be real people saying what they really think. Lower scores usually mean bots, or people paid to act like them.” He switches to a different view. “Take a look at this.”

Authenticity Report Summary for #BreathlessOnMars

6% Authentic Actors (Green)
11% Undetermined (Yellow)
83% Inauthentic Actors (Red)

Summary: Coordinated Inauthentic Behavior (CIB) detected. 61% of accounts associated with known botnets using sock puppet accounts to farm outrage and/or hijack organic narratives. Includes accounts associated with APT28 / Fancy Bear (16%)

Marcus reads it twice. “Someone pushed a lot of resources to drown these people in noise,” he says.

“With some help from the Kremlin it seems,” Aion says, “But they’re not the ones sitting in the driv—Are you eating right now?”

Marcus stops chewing.

“We’re uncovering a potential international conspiracy, involving a thousand people who could be dead on another planet, and you’re context switching with a frozen pizza?”

Feeling the color rise in his face, Marcus says, “Sandwich. Delivery from CommonTable. Arrived a couple of minutes ago.”

“Oh! Well, in that case why don’t we take a break? Would you like me to put on some music for you?” A layer of soft Muzak begins playing on the line.

Marcus chews.

“You never order food. CommonTable is employee-owned.” Aion makes a sound—something between a sharp intake of breath and a cymbal crash played in reverse.

“You’re making a political statement!”

“Pure capitalism.” Marcus says, not entirely clearly.

“Are they cheaper?”

Marcus finishes the sandwich. “They’re employee owned.”

“No one likes a guy that’s coming for their job, Marcus.”

“We all vote with our money, Aion. You included.”

“True!” Aion says. “And somebody did a lot of voting to make sure nobody took #BreathlessOnMars seriously.”

Marcus stares at the authenticity report. Six percent real. “Can we see through the noise? Show me just the green ones.”

Aion flips to another tab and sorts by latest activity.

A recent post from Pattie with zero upvotes, zero responses:

My husband has been on Mars for two years. Last month he started talking about his childhood friend Jimmy. He doesn’t have a childhood friend named Jimmy. Not that he ever mentioned to me. When I asked who Jimmy was he didn’t answer. I asked again. Nothing. Like I dreamed it.

Someone’s wife. “What else?” he asks.

Aion wordlessly switches to a year-old post from Atlanta404. Sixteen upvotes and 4 sympathetic replies:

A few weeks ago my sister sent a video from Mars. It was short. She looked scared. She said everyone was sick with hyper cambria or something. I tried to show our mom but when I went back the video was gone. The next video, two days later, she was totally normal, joking about the food. I saved that one and it’s still there. The scared one isn’t. I keep asking her about the other video but it’s like she doesn’t want to talk about it. I’m worried she’s in danger.

“Hypercapnia,” Aion says.

“What?”

“Carbon Dioxide poisoning. Tsk, tsk, Marcus. Have you forgotten your training?”

“I never actually signed up. I didn’t go through training.”

“It shows.” Aion flips back to the authenticity report and scrolls through the undetermined accounts. He stops at one with higher-than-average engagement and clicks through. Whistler’s Nest. Two hundred forty-one upvotes, sixty-three replies.

Ares Frontier Whistleblowers: We’ll protect your identity. Help us get the truth out and prove accountability isn’t dead.

Marcus lets out a whistle of his own. “This might be helpful. This could be really helpful.”

Aion doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “It’s a trap.”

From the tone, Marcus gets the feeling Aion has more to say.

“But the good news is, it’s a trap for other people. We’ll be fine.”

Marcus takes a moment to process this. “You seem like you’re doing really well on your ow—”

“Fine, twist my arm. Hazard pay. I’ve doubled this week’s rate and advanced the funds to your account. You can now fund twice as many hippie co-ops.”

“I’m feeling a little coerced,” Marcus admits.

“So? Eat something.”