Total Recall

CHAPTER 15 Spaceport

It was dark and silent. Then Phobos, the larger of the two potato-shaped moons of Mars, floated into view. It was about seventeen miles long, thirteen across, and twelve deep, which was pretty small as moons went, but still about twice the size of its companion, Deimos. It was as ugly as a barren rock could be, hardly more than a fragment torn from some larger body and frozen in its irregularity. But it was an excellent spot for a rendezvous, because it was solid without having any significant gravity of its own.

The space cycler came into view, closing on the moon. The ship looked tiny in comparison, a mere speck. Then, above the two, was the huge red mass of Mars, so large in proportion that only its arc showed. Yet Mars was one of the smallest planets, barely over a tenth the mass of Earth. How perspective changed things!

Quaid, aboard the small shuttle, watched Phobos and the space cycler recede. The other passengers paid no attention, bored with this as they had been with the rest of the journey out. All they wanted was tourist trophies and the gaming tables. But he was fascinated. The riddle of his life was here, and not just in the people here. There was something about the landscape of Mars…

The shuttle thrust up, closing the distance. Gradually Quaid’s orientation altered, until he no longer saw the planet as above, but as below. That was a bit more comfortable.

The shuttle crossed the landscape, ragged and pocked by craters of every size. Quaid was locked into it, unable to tear his eyes away. This was almost like his dream, only, only—

He shook his head. It just wouldn’t quite come. What had been done to his memory was like a thick rope wound around his body, tight, chafing, giving only a little in places, hurting him when he struggled. He needed more than just his thoughts to free himself… The terrain was violent, as befitted the planet named for the god of war. He saw part of the enormous equatorial canyon called Valles Marineris, the better part of three thousand miles long, dwarfing Earth’s Grand Canyon. In some sections its walls had collapsed, evidently washed out by flooding. Mars had once had water on its surface, a lot of it; now that water was locked in buried ice, in virtual glaciers under the dust and sand of the surface. No one was sure just how much water there was, if it could only be released, or what might lie below it. He saw the three great shield volcanoes sitting atop the Tharsis ridge. He knew this region; it was coming back to him as he gazed down at it! But where was the thing buried deeper in his memory? It had something to do with the ice…

Now the shuttle approached the peak of Olympus Mons, some fifteen or sixteen miles high according to his memory, a magnificent mountain unlike any other in the Solar System. It might have seemed odd that a planet much smaller than Earth had a volcanic mountain much larger than any on Earth, but this was because the gravity was less, and the mantle of the planet did not constantly shift. On Earth such a structure would have been brought down long ago by the forces of gravity and weather, and the shifting mantle tended to cut volcanoes off from their sources before they could do much.

The retro rockets fired for the shuttle’s vertical descent. On the boulder-strewn plain of Chryse, the spaceport roof opened up, revealing a landing pad inside. The shuttle dropped into the spaceport, and the roof closed over it. Such mechanisms were necessary because the air of Mars was far too thin to permit external unloading.

Quaid, in the guise of the fat lady, exited with the tourists. He showed his passport, the one provided by Hauser in the satchel, and an official seal stamped down on it. MARS FEDERAL COLONY / CONFEDERATION OF NORTHERN NATIONS. No one was really checking the papers; Mars wanted both tourists and colonists, and so kept the red tape to a minimum. That meant that a person could normally be processed through within a couple of hours.

It would be better, of course, if they got it down to two minutes. But bureaucracy was incapable of that. Even if there was only one little bag to check, containing no more than a Mars candy bar, that justified an hour’s delay. On other planets, where they didn’t care about making a good impression, it would justify four hours’ delay, and more if the victim fussed. Bureaucrats were little tyrants in their domains, never able to understand why visitors didn’t like them.

Fortunately, the Mars gravity made standing in line easy. Even a fat lady like him could handle it.

In the Immigration Hall of the spaceport the travelers were queued up in three long lines, waiting to be processed by the three immigration officers on duty. Why didn’t they have a dozen officers there, doing other chores between ships? Richter smiled knowingly. Because that would be too efficient. Visitors needed to feel the power of the bureaucracy, which was demonstrated by wasting their time. He approved of this. It was right that civilians be constantly reminded who had control.

He looked around. An imposing picture of Cohaagen hung on the front wall, greeting all visitors. Soldiers stood ready, armed, in case anyone should think of protesting. He remembered seeing a video about the ancient days, when the Nazis added vicious attack dogs to the lineup, and loosed them if anyone gave them a pretext. Lovely!

He saw the fat lady standing in line behind a mother with a baby slung over her shoulder and his lip curled in disgust. Thank God, Lori never gained weight! The thought that he would see her soon raised his spirits even more.

An escort of soldiers appeared. They shoved people aside to make room for Richter and Helm, who were escorted to the front of the nearest line. As they passed, they jostled the fat lady, who was playing cootchy-coo with the smiling baby. Richter recoiled at the touch.

Two agents in suits approached, greeting Richter and Helm like VIPs. Well, why not!

“Welcome home, Mr. Richter,” the first agent said enthusiastically. “Mr. Cohaagen wants to see you right away.”

Richter walked past the two, hardly deigning to notice them. “What the fuck is that?” He pointed to graffiti on the wall: KUATO LIVES. A painter was in the process of cleaning it up.

“Things have gotten worse,” the agent said tightly. “The rebels took over the refinery last night. No turbinium going out.”

Richter and his entourage proceeded down the hallway. He was disgusted. The last thing they needed was messages from the mythical leader of the Mars Liberation Front! It was enough of a pain dealing with that traitor Hauser without running afoul of imaginary characters. The worst problem with nonexistent folk was that they couldn’t be killed.

“Any news about Hauser?” he asked, reminded of his mission.

“Not a word.”

Bothered about something he couldn’t quite nail, Richter paused and looked back at the patiently waiting people. He saw the baby playing with the fat lady’s hair. The fat lady had rearranged her outfit, but it still didn’t do a thing for her. Then the baby pat-a-caked the woman’s face with some force, not knowing its own strength.

“Where’s my cabin?” the fat lady asked incongruously.

Richter focused on her, vaguely disturbed. Was that the only thing she knew how to say?

The fat lady opened her mouth, seemingly horrified. The baby laughed.

Oh. She was doing it for the baby. Richter turned away, dismissing his concern. The entourage had almost exited the Immigration Hall.

“Where’s my cabin?” the fat lady asked again.

Richter stopped and turned again. Suddenly his vague concern was clarifying into a sharp suspicion. Was it possible?

The fat lady was evidently trying to stifle herself, holding her face as if it were talking without her volition. The baby laughed and laughed at this exhibition. The other people were looking at her now, including the soldiers, who found her behavior strange but not dangerous. Women did tend to get sappy about babies; it was one of the annoying things about them.

Then the fat lady looked his way. She locked eyes with Richter.

Now he knew! “That’s Quaid!” he rasped. “Stop him!”

The fat lady broke from the line and ran to the front, moving with surprising alacrity for her size. She opened her face, which peeled away on either side.

The soldiers were shocked, thinking she had some kind of loathsome disease. She charged them, and they almost fell over each other getting out of the way, not wanting to be infected. That enabled her to run away from Richter.

Richter scrambled after Quaid, drawing his gun, but couldn’t get a shot. The damn lines of stupid people, now scattering across the hall, ruined any decent line of sight.

Another soldier pulled a gun at close range to the fugitive. But Quaid swatted his arm, shoved him into another soldier, then smashed a third soldier in the face. Richter would have admired the man’s finesse if it hadn’t been so important to nail him. Agency training sure showed!

But Quaid couldn’t stay clear for long. He was confined to the spaceport, and the people were clustering at the sides of the hall. In a moment he would be a fair target.

Quaid ran down a corridor. Now, there was a mistake! He had lost his interference. Six soldiers were racing after him, and Richter and Helm after them. They’d corner the rat in a moment!

There was a large window by an intersection. Through it the barren Martian landscape could be seen. It was near-vacuum out there; the man couldn’t escape that way!

Quaid was about to dodge around a corner, but a young soldier blocked the intersection. Quaid tossed the deflated mask to the soldier, who caught it instinctively. The mask snapped together and said, “Get ready for a big surprise.”

The soldier gaped—and the mask exploded!

The explosion shattered the window. It fragmented outward, driven by the pressure of the Earth atmosphere.

This created an instant tornado, as the air funneled out. The spaceport was depressurizing in the manner of a balloon let go. Everybody grabbed onto anything handy and hung on for dear life.

The idiot! Richter thought. They had just about cornered the rat, and Quaid had to pull a stunt like this! Now they were all in trouble.

He saw Quaid grab the railing around an open staircase leading down. Trust the man to be able to handle this better than most! He was going to haul himself away while the soldiers were helpless.

One of the soldiers who had been closest to the window was sucked through the aperture into the near-vacuum. Quaid’s clothes and padding were sucked off his body and followed the soldier out the window. Quaid was left in the short-sleeved shirt and rolled up trousers he wore under the costume, and with the ludicrous high-heeled shoes. And clutching his purse, yet!

An immigration officer struggled to a control panel and managed to activate the emergency alarm.

Metal barriers started sliding down in sequence, covering all the windows and doorways to the left, the right, behind, and ahead. SQQRRCHANG! SQQQRRCHANG! SQQQRRCHANG!

Good! Not only would that stop the loss of air, it would trap Quaid inside, so they could finish the job. Nothing would smash any of those barriers!

He saw Quaid looking frantically around. Yeah, look, you shit! You’re cornered now! And I’m the one who’s going to—

A barrier started to lower over the staircase passage nearest to Quaid. SQQQRRRRR!!!

Quaid pushed off and rolled under just before—

CHANG! He was through.

No! Richter thought, anguished.

A metal sheet slammed over the shattered window. Had the system had any brains, it would have closed that one first and saved them all a hassle.

The tornado instantly dissipated. Now the tourists had breath to scream, gaspingly. Fuck them!

Richter sprinted to the staircase barrier. “Open it! Open it!”

“I can’t,” the nearest soldier said. He was a young twerp, obviously inexperienced. “They’re all connected.”

Frustrated and furious, Richter backhanded him across the face with his gun.