Scene 7
The voice surprises him.
“What’s shakin’ brah?”
It’s a squeaky, slightly nasal voice. For a moment Marcus is fourteen again, controller in hand, being trash-talked in lobby by someone who’d just respawned him for the fifth time.
“...Aion?”
“Indeed. How’s the coffee? Actually, don’t answer — I can hear it in your voice. Not good. Made it yourself, didn’t you.”
Marcus looks at his mug. “How did you—”
“People who make good coffee don’t pause before answering that question, Marcus. You’ll be fine. The payload anomaly.”
Marcus blinks and catches up. “Right. The normalization code—it’s too clean to be a bug. Might be some kind of systematic fraud. Only way to know would be to dig deeper. Do you have manifests? Logs?”
“First, the elephant in the—wherever you are. This is proprietary data from a publicly traded company.”
“It’s Ares Frontier data.”
“No one likes a smarty pants, Marcus. Except me. I love ‘em! How’d you know?”
“A few things, but I wasn’t sure until you called it a payload anomaly. The whole thing screamed rockets, so—probably the company that’s launching most of the rockets?”
Silence.
“Well, when you put it that way—So you think it’s intentional?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And you’d like to know why?”
“Yeah. Especially if you’re paying.”
“Oh, I’m paying. You know me.”
Marcus pauses. “Do I? We’ve just met.”
“Brah! I know that! I mean you know me. Aion! The Meme King! You with it now?”
Marcus takes a slow breath. “I’m not really much of a—”
“Nah, you’re better off without the brain rot. So. Now that you know who I am—is this legal?”
“I was going to ask you that.”
“I can’t tell.”
“Huh?”
Aion slows down. “I mean, I know,” he says meaningfully, “I just can’t tell you. That way you can say you didn’t know.”
“I’m pretty sure I know now.”
“No one likes a smarty pants, Marcus. Now if you pooped them, we can shove off. No shame.”
Marcus frowns. “What—”
“Your pants, Marcus. If the idea of engaging in activities of unknowable legality caused you to have an accident and you need to excuse yourself, cough twice. Or just excuse yourself. Whatever works.”
Marcus laughs despite himself and shakes his head.
“Aion....”
“Marcus....”
“I almost signed up. I would have signed up.”
“What?”
“Ares Frontier. I needed the money. I was going to launch with the next cohort.”
“Seriously? Are you being serious right now?”
“Yeah. So, if someone is screwing with it, I want to know.” He stares at the wall for a long moment. Aion remains completely silent. “I appreciate you advancing the money, but I’d have said yes to this either way.”
“Marcus, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“What?”
“I—I didn’t realize you had a conflict of interest. If I’d known, I’d never have asked you.”
Marcus can’t believe what he’s hearing. And then it hits him.
“Seriously? Are you being serious right now?”
The laugh that blooms on the line is weird and wonderful.
“Aion....”
“Hey! Cut me some slack. On some level, I can’t help myself. And now that we’ve both laid ourselves emotionally bare, can we please quit the chit-chat and get to work?”
“Aion....”
“Marcus....”
Marcus looks at his notepad. Seventeen-point-three percent, written and circled and written again. The shadow of something...wrong. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Thanks.”