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.