It was not the first time the question had occured to him. They came from such different worlds. He was a Construction Engineer, Site Preparation Specialist: longhand for the class of low-level laborers who broke up old artifacts to make way for new ones. In fact, he was a jackhammer jock, just like his dad. It was all he had ever wanted to be and he was proud to follow in his father’s footsteps. He was good at it, too, a veritable artist with his machine, working twice as fast as anyone else, but it hardly made him a prize catch for someone like Lori. Oh, he had muscles, and she did like that, but he was no Hi-Q professor or big-bucks executive, he was just a construction worker.

And Lori? Lori was the pampered daughter of an advertising executive. He recalled the day they met, eight years ago. He had been hard at work on the site of an old, glass and steel highrise which was being demolished to make way for a new, plasplex business center. The site was in the financial district, an area Quaid didn’t usually see much of, and he had enjoyed the passing parade of nattily attired men and woman, late model hovercars, and cleaning droids that kept every surface sparkling. It was an interesting change from his own dingy, decaying working-class neighborhood.

Then he had seen Lori. She had been standing across the street, gazing at him. Even at that distance, he had seen the glint of approval in her eyes as they lingered on his sweat-slicked torso. He had become accustomed to getting the once-over from pretty ladies in expensive dresses, but Lori’s look was bolder, and she followed through on it by crossing the street to say hello.