Winning Mars

Winning Mars by Jason Stoddard
Writer's Notes: this is the novelization of the story Winning Mars that
originally appeared in Interzone 196, which made Rich Horton's Virtual
Best of the Year 2005 and got an Honorable Mention from Gardner
Dozois in the Years Best Science Fiction of the same year. It's about
about 80,000 words of near-future science fiction, distributed for your
reading pleasure under the Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 license. If you'd like to
read the original story, it's available in a collection called Dangerous
Games, edited by Gardner Dozois and Jack Dann. For more
information on Jason Stoddard and why he's giving stuff away, visit
www.xcentric.com.

ONE: MOTIVATION
Blip
"What you're saying is, I'm obsolete," Jere Gutierrez said.
Silence. The bank man and the dataspook both went rigid, eyes
flickering sideways, once, to meet. Which made sense. They didn't
know if he was a shouter or a screamer, or if the office had been
soundproofed for some after-hours folly.
"We're not implying--" the dataspook said. Richard Perez, his name
was. Of course. He would be a dick.
"Yeah. I know. You're not saying I'm dead yet, but everybody's started
buying their black suits."
"We're not saying that, either," the bank man said. His name hovered at
the corner of Jere's eye. Jerome Pullman. "There's no reason Neteno
can't be a thriving business twenty years from now. But if you keep

going down the same path, the chance of discovery and backlash
becomes greater. Which is why we've had to raise your lending rates."
Jere sighed, looking at the parasites in their too-perfect suits, as if
pinstripe double-breasted was their natural pelt and they cleaned it with
their tongues, like cats.
Eighteen months, he thought. Eighteen months, and Neteno goes from
nothing to the luminary of the linears. Now they're telling me it's back
to the ghetto again.
Jere stood and turned to look out the window, where broad swathes of
Hollywood stood, multicolored in the new fashion, under
uncharacteristically blue November skies. He didn't need this now.
They'd just bought the old Capitol building. They'd just sunk a hundred
million inflationary dollars into gutting it and rebuilding it in sleek
blondewoods and translucents and external neons and active wallpaper,
turning it into a real vision of the future. They'd spent a million on the
Neteno sign alone, rotating in perfect holographic space above the top
of the building, some trick of lasers and smartfog that Jere didn't really
understand. He cast his eyes upward in time to see the ENO scroll
lazily past, and the NET to begin again. In the evening, the letters cast a
flickering orange glow in his penthouse office, reminding him of
Christmas lights from his childhood.
"Timeline, sales and profit," he said, softly, into his throatmike. His
projectacle streamed rectified visuals into the corner of his eye. His
whisperpod started chanting the numbers, with commentary on profits.
"Stop commentary," Jere said. He knew the trend. A spike in revenues
initially, when he'd taken over the ailing network and did his first stunt.
Then, smoothly rising results. Even accelerating in the last few months.
Jere turned back to the parasites. "I don't see a downtrend."
"There isn't one," the dataspook said. "That's why we felt an in-person
meeting--"

"That's why we brought along a risk-analysis expert from 411, Inc.,"
Jerome said, breaking into a wide, thin-lipped, and completely false
smile. "I can understand your confusion. In the past -- even the very
recent past -- numbers like yours would have CMB dancing in the
street. Carte blanche, lowest rates, pick your number. But times have
changed."
Jerome shook his head sadly and sighed, as if he'd just discovered the
entire world was a cheat, and both he and Jere were set up for the worst
rogering. Jere just looked at him. Jerome wouldn't get a job acting in
zero-budget student linears for in-dorm streaming.
Jerome waited another three beats for commiseration, then gulped and
went on. "411, Inc. does extensive monitoring and analysis of the buzz
universe, using artificially intelligent algorithms and human brainpower
to determine trends that are not obvious to the unaided observer--"
"Can the script," Jere said. "What you're saying is, these spooks say
we're heading for a fall."
"Your audiences are becoming aware of your manipulation," Richard
said.
"Rich, I --"
Jere held up a hand. "No. Let him talk."
Richard looked nervously around, like a study-skipper called to deliver
rotes in class. He licked his lips. "Well, you see, Neteno's big
innovation was bringing back the writers, making up stories to impress
on major world events--"
Jere's stomach clenched hard. He leaned over his desk, placing greasy
handprints on the perfect obsidian surface. "What did you say?"
"I said, you use writers to make stories that would otherwise--"
"Who told