Quaid ignored the others without effort; it wasn’t just that their sounds were turned down, but that he had the reflex practiced from childhood that enabled every citizen to tune out nine-tenths of what was going on, without effort. Any of the sections could be “zoomed” to take over the full screen, or any significant portion of it, but this normally wasn’t worth the bother; the human eye and mind were the most versatile zoomers. Besides, sometimes different members of a family wanted to watch different segments, and this allowed them to do so without quarreling.

The news footage of the Martian Mine episode occupied the large center portion of the screen. The newscaster narrated in a mini-screen of his own. “…an explosion ruptured the geodesic dome over the Pyramid Mine, halting the extraction of turbinium ore, key resource of the Northern Bloc’s particle beam weapons program.”

Soldiers in breathing masks roughly handled the miners. It was obvious that the military authority was almost eager for someone to make its day by offering some token resistance. Quaid discovered that his fingers were twitching, as if handling and firing a rifle. That was odd, because he couldn’t remember when he had last handled any firearm, if ever.

“The Mars Liberation Front has taken credit for the blast,” the newscaster continued, “and demanded the planet’s full independence from, quote, ‘Northern tyranny.’ It claims to be ready to set off further—”

Suddenly the main screen jumped to an environmental window, a broadcast from a supposedly virgin forest that now occupied all the screens on the multi-vision video. It was a beautiful scene, but hardly what he wanted at the moment.

“No wonder you have nightmares,” Lori said, stepping in front, holding the remote control. She was dressed in a smart street suit, ready to go out shopping. “You’re always watching the news.”

Quaid sat down at the table as Lori began buttering bread for her own breakfast.