“The first settlers are buried here,” she said.
Quaid noticed human corpses in the niches, naturally mummified without wrappings. He had heard of similar examples in some of the drier areas on Earth. Mummification depended on the climate, not the wrappings.
Melina led the way through a labyrinth of narrow corridors lined with open tombs. She remembered the first time she had come here, as a little girl clinging in fright to her mother’s hand. Her mother had calmed her fears by telling her stories about each desiccated form, until they had become recognizable individuals, almost alive.
Her mother’s stories had started Melina on the path which led to her joining the rebel forces. The first settlers had been a hardy breed, determined to create a colony that would be the envy of all the other planets. They had built a firm foundation, but the discovery of turbinium had undermined it. The Northern Bloc focused on the mines to the exclusion of almost everything else and living conditions deteriorated accordingly.
Vilos Cohaagen had made matters intolerable. The man was an insensitive monster. He made no effort whatsoever to listen to the people of his colony. He responded to petitions with arrests, and declared that any criticism directed at him would be punishable by death. Melina could not bear to see the dreams of the first settlers dissolve into dust, so she had joined the Mars Liberation Front. She intended to see the first settler’s vision become reality. Benny’s voice intruded on her thoughts.
“I heard about this place,” Benny whispered.
“They came to build a better life,” Melina said. “But it didn’t work out that way. Cohaagen skimped on the domes and turned us into freaks. He works us like slaves on our own planet, and he won’t let us leave. He even makes us pay for the air we breathe.”
Something fell into place in Quaid’s mind. Air…
“We’re like his goddamn pet goldfish,” Benny grumbled bitterly.
“We could have had a livable planet by now,” Melina continued. “But the Northern Bloc decided that creating an atmosphere wasn’t ‘economically feasible.’ Not if it meant taking money and manpower away from the turbinium mines.” She was deeply disgusted.
Air. Quaid struggled to grasp the thought he had almost had, but it eluded him. He focused instead on the plight of the miners. He had known that mining turbinium was dangerous; in fact, there was more than a suspicion that the mutation rate on Mars was as much the fault of radiation in the mines as of the unshielded sunlight in the domes. Without the huge bonuses, no one would voluntarily emigrate to work in the mines.
And it wasn’t until they got to Mars that they realized they’d have to spend most of those bonuses on air, Quaid thought grimly. Since the mines were the only game in town, the common folk had to work in them, just to keep on breathing. Even if they did suspect what it cost them—what choice did they have? Slow mutation was better than fast death.
He began to remember why Hauser had changed sides. If the folks of Mars had any alternative to mining turbinium, there would be a revolution. There was one already, but not enough of one, because Cohaagen controlled the air supply.
“And nobody down there on Earth gives a damn,” Melina continued. “As long as the turbinium keeps flowing, as long as the Northern Bloc can maintain military superiority on Earth, nobody’s going to upset Cohaagen’s comfortable little apple cart.” She stopped and turned to Quaid with hope in her eyes. “But maybe you can change all that.”
He looked away, embarrassed. If only he could unbury those memories, whatever it was that he was supposed to know that would change everything! But the chains on his mind remained firm. “I’ll do what I can,” he said gruffly.
They walked on through the catacombs, Quaid beside Melina, Benny lagging behind.
“It’s something you know,” Melina said. “Kuato’s going to make you remember a few things.”
“Like what?”
“All sorts of things.” She hesitated and when she continued, her voice was husky with emotion. “Maybe you’ll even remember that you love me.” Quaid couldn’t bear to hear the sorrow in her voice. He grabbed her arm and turned her to face him. He had to convince her that what was in his heart was real; that the false memories in his head didn’t matter.
“Melina, listen to me!” he said. “I don’t need Kuato for that! I dreamed about you every night back on Earth. They blotted out everything else, but they couldn’t destroy my feelings for you. When I slept, I saw you, and I wanted you, every night. The memory of our life together may be gone, but the feeling remains. It just wouldn’t let go, till I couldn’t go on with my life.”
Melina gazed into his eyes, and he saw belief forming. “Then you really—”
“Forever!” He leaned closer, but before their lips could meet, Benny let out a yelp of alarm.
The corpses around them were moving! A whole section of the catacomb wall slid away like a door. Behind it stood seven armed men.
Quaid tensed, but Melina put a hand on his arm, calming him. “It’s okay,” she said, “they’re with us.”
One of the rebels stepped forward and gestured toward Benny with the barrel of his gun. “Who’s that?” he asked.
“He helped us escape,” replied Melina.
“Hey, don’t worry about me, man,” said Benny. “I’m on your side.” Benny put his left hand on his right hand and pulled. There was a click; then the right hand came off, as if it were the appendage of a marionette. It was artificial. Underneath was a deformed nub with a few vestigial fingers. Quaid felt slightly sickened by the sight, but the others looked on with mute sympathy.
Then the cabbie stretched out his arm and clenched his fist. There was something odd about the shape of the arm and Quaid’s stomach lurched as he saw something squirm under the sleeve. The cabbie pushed the sleeve up and a second forearm unhinged from the first, a grotesque limb with long, bony, webbed fingers which slowly curled and uncurled. Even the rebels recoiled at the sight—but it served its purpose. They were convinced that Benny was one of them.
“Follow me,” the rebel said. They followed the armed men through a narrow tunnel to a large excavated chamber where other resistance fighters camped in small groups. Weapons and ammunition were stacked around the room, and a few men were poring over maps on a table at the far end. The rest were eating, playing cards, cleaning weapons, reading, and sleeping, but there was little talk and no laughter. The mood was very dark.
Quaid lost some respect for the rebels. They were an organized force, without a doubt, but he was learning entirely too much about them. A spy could make a fairly accurate report on their numbers and nature, if brought through here this way. The sensible procedure would have been to drug him unconscious, bring him here, then kill him if he turned out to be a spy.
The rebel in the lead turned to Benny. “Wait here,” he ordered. And then, to Melina and Quaid: “Come with me.” He escorted them to the table at the far end of the room. Now Quaid could see that there was a videophone among the maps and charts that littered the table. He could also see that the man seated at the table, the man who was obviously in command, was George, the affable miner from The Last Resort. He spoke urgently into the videophone and there was authority in his tone.
“Then ram down the pressure seals!” he said.
“We can’t,” said a voice and Quaid stiffened when he heard it. It belonged to Tony, the hothead who had been with Melina at the bar. Peering over George’s shoulder, Quaid saw that the miner was in no shape to fight anyone now. He appeared to be breathing with difficulty and Quaid could see others in the background, lying on the floor of the bar or draped over tables, gasping for air.