The Martian Viking Read Online Free PDF Page B

him. He was full of the divine, universal spirit. Even after he left the New Age building—erected, he recalled, in the first year of the millennium—he felt elated. The psychedelic gases he'd been inhaling during the session had something to do with it, he knew, but not that much. It would help Ronnie so much to see Madame Psychosis. So far he hadn't been able to talk her into trying a session, but he was certain that she would sense the spirit in him and be moved to come with him sooner or later.
    Even at nine in the morning, the sun glowed amorphously through a peach-colored haze, and the temperature felt like 110°, but Ryan decided not to think about the oppressive weather. As he put on his protective head gear, he could think of little besides how complete his life was. He had a fulfilling career, a wonderful lover, and would soon have a fine son, too. He hadn't really connected with Smitty II yet, but it was only a matter of time. Ronindella's first visit to Madame Psychosis would expedite that process.
    He began to whistle as he walked through the parking lot. And why shouldn't he? The best years of his life were just beginning.
     
    Across town, Johnsmith Biberkopf emerged from a maglev bus in front of the local Conglom building. He was resigned, sober, and prepared for the inevitable. His only alternative had been suicide, and it was too late for that. Besides, he was certain he didn't have the courage to kill himself . . .if courage was indeed what it took.
    The Conglom building was mid-twentieth century revival, a series of swooping lines and glass rectangles, designed to remind one of the original United Nations Building in New York. Of course, every city on Earth had one of these now, since the Conglom had franchised the UN, but Johnsmith had always felt that it was a charmingly quaint structure. He'd only been inside once before, when he was a little kid, for voice and fingerprint registration. He could remember it quite vividly, though, even if it had been over thirty years ago when he'd first walked through these glass doors.
    He had wanted to take Smitty II down here for registration, when the boy was at the legal age for it, five, but Ronnie had insisted that their son go with his first grade class. She said that it would help to socialize the kid.
    Johnsmith shrugged, standing in the immense lobby, uncertain of where he was supposed to go. He clutched his Triple-S pass in both hands.
    "Follow the red line," the security net's voice said. It sounded exactly like Sir Laurence Olivier. Johnsmith looked around and saw a group of people lined up near a glowing, crimson bar that led into a corridor. He got behind the last person, a young woman with a hawkish, but not unattractive, face.
    "I guess this is the line for induction," he said, trying to make conversation.
    The woman glared back, saying nothing. Johnsmith wondered idly if the security net had misdirected him. The grim manner of the people queued up in front of him suggested that this was the correct place, though. He turned to see more people falling in behind him. None of them looked particularly happy.
    Johnsmith saw a man walking through the lobby, the light glaring through the glass doors behind him. There was something familiar about his gait and bearing. As he came toward the queue, Johnsmith recognized him.
    "Sonny!" he said. It was the guy who had been in his effapt yesterday.
    Sonny looked at him, brow furrowing. He came toward Johnsmith. The other people didn't mind when he got in front of them in line.
    "Come down here to check up on me, Sonny?" Johnsmith said bitterly. "You didn't really have to worry. I don't have the money to take off for Outer Mongolia. Even if I did, I imagine the government would catch up with me before long."
    "I'm not here to check up on you," Sonny said. "I've been inducted, too."
    The line advanced slowly, and they moved with it. Johnsmith was confused. "I thought you were a P.A."
    "I am . . .or should I say