Piers Anthony: Total Recall

Suddenly the windows were back on Environmental. Lori had taken the control and switched again. “He’s right about that,” she said. “Except that lunatics are crazed by the moon, not Mars. Everything about Mars is crazy!”

Irritated, Quaid tried to grab the control, but she jumped behind the table, laughing.

“Lori, come on!” he snapped. “This is important.”

She paused, then pursed her lips. “Kiss!”

Ordinarily he liked her games, which usually involved close contact with her luscious body, and he didn’t want to alienate her. He accepted her terms, got up, moved forward, and put his arms around her.

She nestled nicely. “Sweetheart—” She paused for a threatened kiss. “I know it’s hard being in a new town. But let’s at least give it a chance.” Another pause. “Okay?”

Quaid forced a smile. His last raise had enabled them to move twenty floors up the tower block, which meant moving up the social scale as well. Lori loved it, but Quaid had to admit that, with his working class background, he was having a bit of trouble adjusting to the “new town.” At the moment, though, he was annoyed with Lori for distracting him yet again. He really was interested in the news from Mars.

She finally kissed him. She was facing away from the video wall. His hands found hers, behind her back, holding the remote control. While he continued to kiss her, he switched back to the news, and watched it over her shoulder.

Cohaagen was speaking. “As you might have noticed, we weren’t blessed with an atmosphere here on Mars. Not one that’s worth anything. We have to make our air. And somebody’s got to pay for it.”

Lori finally disengaged from the kiss, which had extended beyond her intent. “You’re gonna be late.” Perhaps she was afraid that he really would get worked up for another sexual bout, after she had so carefully put herself together. Her concern was not wholly unjustified.

Quaid released her slowly, as if reluctantly giving up the notion of further interplay between them. His real purpose was to hear whatever remained of the broadcast.

“Right,” the reporter was saying. “But your prices are extravagant. After a miner deducts the cost of air from his salary, nothing is—”

“It’s a free planet,” Cohaagen said firmly. “If you don’t want my air, don’t breathe it!”

“Mr. Cohaagen,” another called out. “Any comment, sir, on the rumor you closed the Pyramid Mine because you found alien artifacts inside?” Cohaagen rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Bob,” he said, “I wish we could find some nice alien artifacts. Our tourist industry could use a boost.” The reporters chuckled on cue. “But the fact is, it’s just another piece of terrorist propaganda, put out to undermine trust in the legally appointed government of Mars.” The news switched back to Earth.

Lori had been nudging him gently but firmly toward the door. Now he yielded to her effort and let her guide him, like a tug with a freighter, to the conapt’s exit. She got him to the door and pushed him away.

“Have a nice day,” she said, smiling sweetly.

Quaid smiled, gave her one more quick kiss, and left. He heard the multiple screens, now that he wasn’t trying to tune them out, describing the weather, a financial graph, and local security. Well, at least she hadn’t put the Environmental back on.

Then, as he passed through the door, something washed over him. It was a mental picture of the sky turning horrendously red, the buildings bursting into flames. All Earth was being destroyed, by a nova! The sun had flared, heating the inner planets, and causing firestorms to incinerate everything. With horror, he knew he was going to die—along with all the rest of his species.

Quaid blinked. The world was normal again. It had been a seizure of imagination, probably triggered by the news item about the mysterious novas. It couldn’t happen here, of course; the sun was not the type.

Or was it? The astronomers admitted that stars were going nova that had no business doing it. The astronomers obviously didn’t know stars as well as they thought they did! How well did they know the sun?

No, it was too crazy. He dismissed it, and headed for the elevators.

Quaid found himself in the commuter stream he had seen from his window. He hated this, without being certain why; there was nothing inherently wrong about the densely populated foot runnels. Maybe it was just that his dream of Mars lent him an appreciation for the deserted open terrain, where even one other person in sight was significant, especially if it was a lovely woman in a space suit. Here he was constantly jostled by the thronging mass of humanity, breathing the used air of those around him and smelling the industrial pollution that was chronic at these lower levels, no matter what the local publicity ads claimed. Mars, at least, was clean; there was nothing there but red dust and jumbled stones. On Mars, a man could stretch out his arms without banging the snotty nose of the man next to him.

He descended the long escalator which at this hour resembled a rushing waterfall of heads, backs, and shoulders sliding toward the lower levels of the subway station. At the bottom, the stream was diverted momentarily around a small area occupied by a crippled fiddler. Quaid smiled, refreshed by the sight of someone claiming space and attention for himself in the midst of the anonymous morning crush. He paused to slide his ID card into the fiddler’s portable credit register. It recorded his donation and he allowed himself to be swept back into the stream again.

He squeezed into a security area. The mass of working folk formed into lines to pass the large X-ray panels. This was a bottleneck, costing him time, but couldn’t be helped. There had been so much violence on the mass transit system that measures had had to be taken, and certainly he didn’t want to be robbed or killed by some hophead freak on the subway, or be part of a group taken hostage by a nascent revolutionary cult. No metal or weapons-caliber plastics were allowed, unless they were plainly not weapons, and that did reduce incidents of violence somewhat.

Having nothing better to do, he watched the line ahead of him as it turned to pass the panels. Each person lost clothing and flesh to become a walking skeleton, then returned to full human form beyond the panel. He saw an attractive young woman approach, and watched closely as she paraded on the panel, but it was no good; all that showed was her bones, not her bare body. He always hoped that someday something would go wrong, the the X-rays would be diminished just enough to abolish the clothing, leaving the naked flesh. Unfortunately, it never happened; the panels either worked or they didn’t, full on or full off. Still, those were nice bones.

His turn came. He passed through, feeling like a stripper on stage. As he passed beyond the panel he glanced back at the line behind him and saw a young woman staring at him, the tip of her tongue playing across her lips, her eyes fixed. She had been trying to see his naked flesh! That pleased him, in a minor way. He knew he had good bones too.

What did he care what some strange woman thought? He had a lovely and attentive wife at home, and a lovely and adventurous dream woman on Mars. He didn’t need any other affairs. Yet, foolishly, he craved them. At least he craved some way out of this dull existence. Maybe it was adventure he wanted, whether of far travel or of sexual conquest. Anything except this damned daily rat race!

He continued onto an escalator and rode it down to the subway. This was another bottleneck, because there were never quite enough cars to hold all the people crowding in. He was too far back to make the first train that came, and had to wait for the second, which was a good six minutes later. They were supposed to run at three-minute intervals, but they never did; probably some high official was skimming from the transit fund, leaving less money for train procurement and repair. So it was the passengers who paid for it, in extra three-minute delays, helplessly. If he hit one more bottleneck like this, he’d be late for work, and get his paycheck docked.