Chapter 5

They left the capital building and boarded another of the elevated transportation trains a block over. They rode this train back out to the beltline and then got on another for the trip to Karen's neighborhood. The trip took fifteen minutes and during it Ken was able to become a little more adjusted to the queasy sensation caused by the inertial damping system on the train.

They exited at a stop called HIGHLANDS 3. The streets here were a little narrower than they had been at the university section of the city, a little wider than they had been downtown. There were less people walking about as well and the buildings that stretched into the sky were a little further apart. As they walked Ken was able to catch glimpses of the red Martian soil between some of the buildings.

"Are we near the edge of the city?" he asked Karen.

"Fuckin aye," she replied. "The more expensive housing units tend to be on the edges of the city so a view of the landscape is possible. The public housing and the lower end upgraded housing are all closer to downtown. Usually you can only see other buildings out the windows, particularly from the lower floors."

"Well, its nice to see that some things don't change."

"What do you mean?"

"That's how it was in my time too. The rich people lived in the places with the views and the poorer people lived near downtown."

"Well, like I told you," Karen said, "I've spent eight years in school to do what I do and I have a lot of responsibility. Why shouldn't I be able to live in a nice place with a nice view for my efforts?"

"I guess you should," he had to admit.

"Here's my building," Karen told him, leading him across the street.

Her building was called "Edgewood Towers Housing Complex". It rose higher than all of the surrounding buildings by at least thirty floors. Red carpeting covered the entrance foyer. The doors slid open as Karen approached and they were in a spacious lobby that looked like one that might be found in a fancy hotel. There was another of the fountains in the center and shops of various kinds lined both sides.

"Lets get you a PC first of all," Karen told him, "and then we'll have lunch. I'll show you how financial transactions are carried out these days."

"You don't use cash or credit cards?"

"No," she said. "Cash hasn't been used since shortly after World War III. And on Mars there is no such thing as a line of credit for consumer items. You can get loans from the government for certain things but if you wish to buy everyday items you have to have credits in your account."

"So everything is done by computer now?" Ken asked.

"You bet your ass. Come on, I'll show you. Let's go to the electronics store."

She led him across the lobby to a shop near the elevators. Zander's Electronics Shop was the name of it. They walked inside and Ken saw it was sort of a futuristic Radio Shack. Computer terminals, speakers, wiring and components, and large television type screens were mounted on displays throughout the store. A short, dark skinned man, completely bald, was sitting behind a counter with a computer terminal mounted on it. He seemed to be watching some sort of entertainment program. He looked up at them as they entered and gave an inviting smile.

Ken looked around in fascination at all of the merchandise. "So all of this stuff in here is sold by the government?" he asked.

"Oh no," Karen said, shaking her head. "This is a private shop. Most of our consumer shops are privately owned."

"Really?" Ken said. "I thought you said the government provided everything."

"Not everything," she said. "Just the basic items that are considered necessities to life. Zander here rents this space from the government, who owns this building after all, but he purchases most of his inventory from private suppliers and then sells it at a fixed rate. He does of course provide government items as well. That is part of his mission."

"So you do allow private enterprise under you system?" Ken asked.

"Of course we do," she said. "I told you that our system had elements of capitalism as well as communism. There has to be private businesses to fill the gap between the necessities and the luxuries. Zander and people like him provide things for you to spend your credits on in order to make your life more luxurious. For instance, the government provides you with a computer in your living space because that is considered essential to life these days. The government does not provide you with large screens for video entertainment, or holographic generators for feature films, or VR equipment for pornography. If you want those things you have to work, save enough credits, and buy them. If you don't know how to install them you have to pay one of Zanders' sons to install it for you."

"Did you say VR equipment for pornography?" Ken asked.

"Fuckin aye," she said. "Pornography is a big business on Mars. The best porn is virtual reality porn, although it can be somewhat expensive. You put a VR helmet on and stimulation attachments to your genitals and hands."

"You're kidding."

"Not at all." She frowned a little. "It's not as good as the real thing of course, but then porn is mainly a masturbation function anyway, isn't it? I imagine its quite a bit more rankin than the porn you are accustomed to. I have some of the attachments in my house if you'd like to try it out."

Ken found himself blushing again. "Uh... I'll uh... think about it," he stammered.

Karen smiled. "It's kind of cute how prudish you are," she said. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but I do engage in masturbation quite frequently you know. Everyone does. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I know," he said. "It's just that it's a little embarrassing to talk about it."

"We don't consider that to be so," she said. "On Mars, masturbation principals and technique are taught in primary school in fifth and sixth grade. It has been found that regular release of sexual build-up is an important part of maintaining good physical and mental health. You see..."

"Uh... could we maybe talk about this some other time?" Ken whispered in interruption after noting that Zander, the proprietor, was avidly following their conversation.

"Sure," she said. "Have it your way. That's what we're down with. Come on, let's go get you set up."

She led him up to the counter where Zander was sitting. He smiled at her in a familiar manner. "Doctor Valentine," he greeted. "How the fuck you be?"

"Just gnarly, Zander," she said. "Just fuckin gnarly."

"That's the shit," Zander said. "How are those new speakers working out for your system? Did I give you the straight shit or did I fuck you over?"

"It's the straight," Karen said. "They sound like a fuckin rampage, I'm here to tell you. You really kicked my ass. And thank your nice son for putting that in for me. He did his normal rankin job."

"He appreciates those tips you give him," Zander said. "I'm telling you, those two fight over who gets to do the job when you need something done."

"Well they deserve it," Karen said with a smile. She pointed to Ken. "Zander, this is Ken Frazier, a relative of mine from WestHem. He just became a citizen today."

"Well suck my hairy ass," Zander said, holding out his hand. "How the fuck are you, Ken?"

"Uh... I'm uh... fine, thanks," he said, still trying to interpret in his mind most of what had just been said. And had Zander just told him to suck his hairy ass? Was that a common expression? Had Zander told him that back in San Jose they might very well have been fighting a few seconds later. Slowly he stuck out his hand and it was shaken.

"Shit on me," Zander said. "That is one thick WestHem accent you have there, my butt buddy. No mistaking where you're from."

My butt buddy? Ken thought, resisting the urge to wipe his hand on his shorts. "Uh... I guess not," he said.

"So what's the shit today?" Zander asked, his tone turning businesslike. "Ken needs a PC?"

"That ain't no shit," Karen told him. "We just came from the capital."

"Okay then," Zander said. "We talking Mars issue here? Or would he like something a little upgraded?"

"Something a little upgraded I think," Karen said. "I'll pay for the diff."

"Fuckin aye. What kind of upgrades do we want?"

Ken simply watched as Karen and Zander discussed the features of various personal computers using guttural street slang. He didn't follow most of what was said although a few terms jumped out at him. Holographic generator was one such thing. Phased connection was another. Eventually they were able to come to a mutual agreement on which PC would be perfect for him. Zander then reached into a display shelf behind him and pulled out a small device that was a little bit smaller than a cellular phone from his day. It was mostly black, with the words "NPI Electronics" stenciled in gold on the front. There was a small touch screen on the bottom of it and a flip-up cover of some sort on the top. On the back of it was a metal clip. Zander set it down on the counter before him and then reached into a drawer and pulled out an electrical cord, which he sat next to it.

"Okay," Zander said. "One NPI model 9. With the government deduction subtracted that's gonna run you eight credits."

"Fuckin aye," Karen said.

"Ken, if you'll lay some derm for me, I'll verify that you're entitled to the government deduction."

Ken hesitated for a second, remembering what happened last time he was asked to "lay some derm". "Uh... will that show everything about me like at the capital?" he asked Karen.

"Of course not," she told him. "Zander is not entitled to view your personal files like the government agents are. All his computer will do is check with the government files to see if you're entitled to a PC at the moment."

"Oh, okay," he said a little doubtfully. Put he put his right index finger down on the screen.

"Looks like the system is down with you," Zander said. He turned to Karen. "Okay, if you'll lay some derm for me we'll wrap this shit up."

Karen put her finger down on the screen. There was a beep from the computer screen before Zander and he looked at it absently, giving a nod. "That'll do it," he said. "Anything else today?"

"No, Zander," Karen said. "That should do it."

Karen and Zander exchanged a few more profane pleasantries with each other while Ken picked up his new PC. It was very light in his hands, lighter even than a child's toy phone. The plastic casing felt very flimsy.

"Let's go get some lunch, Ken," Karen said, leading him out the shop.

"Sure," he said, following behind her.

Back out in the lobby they started walking further towards the back of the building.

"So you see," Karen said. "In this day and age, all of our financial transactions are handled by the computer. Internet connects Zander's system to the main Martian system, just like any place that takes money for a service. We don't have any banks anymore like you used to have. All of our money is stored in our computer files the government maintains. When I pay for something, like your PC there, I simply put my finger on his pad, which identifies me to the system. His computer checks my account to see if I have the required amount of credits for the purchase. If so, those credits are deducted from my account and added to Zanders' business account. From that account Zanders will pay his employees, who in this case, are his two sons. That's pretty much how all transactions are handled these days."

"Interesting," Ken said, thinking it over. "So there is no need for cash anymore."

"Exactly," she said, coming to a halt before another of the shops. "This is Belinda's. A nice place for lunch when you want to go to a restaurant. Not too elaborate. Just rankin food."

Ken read the sign out front. "Belinda's Eats and Shit?" he said doubtfully. "Is that really the name?"

"What's wrong with that?" Karen asked in complete seriousness.

"Nothing," he said dismissively. "If you say its good, then its good."

They went inside, Ken still carrying his new PC and power cord in his hands. The restaurant looked pretty much like what a restaurant in his day and age had looked like. Tables were geometrically arranged throughout the middle of the dining area, and booths were arranged along the walls. About half of the booths and about a third of the tables were occupied with scantily clad Martians in pairs or groups of three and four. A few solitary diners sat at a counter near the entrance to what Ken presumed was the kitchen. Waiters and waitresses, all dressed in light green uniforms of shorts and half shirts, moved to and fro among the tables, delivering food or taking away dishes. The smell was of cooking meat and spices.

Instead of waiting to be seated, which had been the custom in Ken's time, Karen simply led him to one of the empty booths. When they sat down Ken saw there was a small computer screen imbedded in the table surface on both sides. WELCOME TO BELINDA'S EATS AND SHIT, read large lettering on the screen. Below this were touch pads that were labeled ENTREES, APPETIZERS, DRINKS, and DESSERT.

"Lets get some drinks first," Karen suggested. "Just touch the screen where it says 'drinks' and a menu will pop up. You touch whichever drink you want and the server will bring it over to you. Once we get that coming, we can order our lunch."

Ken touched the pad and another series of menus appeared, this one subdivided into categories of drinks. There was SODA, TEA, COFFEE, and BOOZE.

"If you like wine," Karen said, "try a glass of the French Chardonnay. It's one of the imports we get from EastHem. It's really static."

"Uh... okay," he said, pushing BOOZE and then paging through a few more submenus until he found the selection that she was talking about. He read from the description which said that the wine was "premium, grade A shit, with just enough booze in it to buzz you after two glasses". The price was listed at .4 credits. He pushed the button and a friendly female voice told him that his order had been sent.

"Let's get your PC activated," Karen said after she had sent her own drink order off.

"Okay," he said, picking it up from the table. He looked at it closely for the first time, noting that, aside from the flip up panel and the touch screen, there did not seem to be any buttons of any kind on it. There was a small hole in the back where the power cord presumably plugged in, but that was about it.

"Now the thing you want to remember about your PC is to always carry it with you. It is the most important possession you have in this society. It serves as a communication device, as a computer access terminal, and it keeps track of all of your finances for you."

"So its like a cellular phone from my day?" Ken asked. "Just a little more sophisticated."

"A lot more sophisticated actually, but yes, the cellular phones in the early 21st century are the ancestors of what you are now holding. Once active, that PC will work only for you. It will recognize your voiceprint and your fingerprint. Go ahead and flip open the screen."

He did so, and was met with nothing but a blank screen.

"Tell it to turn on," she said next.

"Uh... computer, turn on," he said into it, feeling a little sheepish to be doing so. His efforts were rewarded however, when the screen lit up, showing a logo for something called Martian Internet Services.

"What the fuck is your name, Dawg?" the computer said in a rough, male voice.

He looked at Karen, who nodded for him to go ahead. "Ken Frazier," he said.

"Voice print recorded," the voice said. "Will Ken Frazier be the owner of this PC?"

"Yes," he told it.

"Lay some derm on the touch screen for verification."

He laid some derm and there was a beep.

"Identification verified," it said. "Downloading data." A pause of about two seconds. "Download complete. You may now use this PC."

"So what exactly did it do?" he asked.

"It accessed the Martian Internet by locking onto a cellular antenna," she explained. "It downloaded all of the personal information it needs about you to be your PC. Your financial data, your address, that kind of shit. If you tell it to go to com, which is communications, you can establish your ID number. That's kind of like a telephone number in your age but it also links to mail as well."

He told his computer to go to com and the small screen lit up with a communications icon. At the same time the touch pad came to life with a variety of options for him to choose from. Karen walked him through the process of finding out what his ID number was. It turned out to be a 10-digit number that looked just like a traditional phone number with the area code included.

"That was the basis for the original numbering system," Karen confirmed when he mentioned this. "That will be your number for life, no matter where you move to, unless you request to have it changed. Now tell me what it is and we'll try it out."

She took out her own PC, which was a slightly different model by the same company. He read the number off to her and she in turn read it into her PC.

"Store under Ken Frazier," she told her PC, to which it responded, "fuckin aye." She then told her PC to contact Ken Frazier.

"Direct com from Karen Valentine," the voice from his machine told him a second later.

"Tell it to answer," Karen advised.

"Uh... answer," Ken said. A second later a tiny, three dimensional hologram of Karen's head and upper body suddenly appeared in front of his screen, seeming to hover in the air, its movements mimicking Karen's exactly. It was so real that it looked like he could reach down and pick it up. He tried this in fact but his fingers only met empty air.

"You see?" Karen and her hologram said. "Simple as can be. Just say end call and the connection will stop."

"End call," he said and the image disappeared.

"Would you like to input Karen Valentine's ID number into the database?" the PC asked him next.

He looked at Karen and she nodded. "Uh... yes," he said.

"Fuckin aye," the PC told him. "It's done." The screen then returned to the communications icon.

"That's some shit," Ken said in wonder.

"If you ever need to get hold of me for anything," she said, "all you have to do is go to com on your PC and tell it to contact Karen Valentine. If I can't answer you at the moment my mail system will take a video message from you. I'll show you how to set up your own mail message too."

"How much does all of this cost?" he asked, thinking that the monthly service fee must be outrageous.

"Nothing," she said. "Internet, communications, banking, and everything else on the PC or on the home computer system are provided by the government as part of their mission. They are deemed vital to life and so they are a constitutional right."

"Because it makes sense, right?"

"Because it makes sense," she confirmed.

A waiter came a moment later and delivered a glass of wine for each of them. Ken sipped at his and found it was a pretty ordinary tasting variety of Chardonnay, no different from what he had once enjoyed with his wife in her pre-pregnancy days. They then spent a few minutes paging through the food options and placing their orders. Ken was surprised to see the cuisine was very much the same as what might've been found in a Denny's or Lyon's restaurant. He ordered a cheeseburger with mushrooms and French fries and a side of salad. The computer screen promised his meal would be there shortly.

While they waited they sipped their wine and Karen explained more of the features of his PC to him. She showed him how to adjust the volume and how to change the voice the PC talked to him with (he chose a more gentle, feminine voice instead of the gruff male one). She then had him go to the financial screen, where his credit account was displayed (there was a balance of 0 in it) and where the items he was entitled to under the constitution were listed.

"All of this stuff is free?" he asked, reading through it. It listed ten pairs of shorts, ten shirts, two pairs of moccasins, housing credit for public housing, and a lengthy list of grocery items such as meat, cereal, milk, vegetables, and various condiments.

"Those are your basic constitutional allowances," she said. "As you can see in the notations, the food items renew every week, the clothing renews every two months, and the housing credits are indefinite. When you go into the shops you'll find the constitutional items are marked with a Martian symbol. That's a silhouette of the planet with the moons in orbit above it. If you want upgraded items - better meat or vegetables or better quality clothing - the cost of your constitutional items will be deducted from the upgrades."

"So the constitutional food and clothes aren't all that good?" he asked.

"They're not bad," she said with a shrug. "Especially the basic staples. Milk and most of the vegetables I get from the store are my constitutionals. The beef however is only hamburger, London broil, hot dogs, and things of that sort. I like to get nicer cuts so I pay the difference. I also like pre-cut and pre-boned chicken instead of a whole chicken. That costs me a little more too. As for clothes, well, my wardrobe is about half Government issue and half upgrades. As you've seen, we don't have quite as much interest in fashion as your people did, although we do have an extensive lingerie market."

"Lingerie?" he said.

"Oh yes. Martian women love lingerie. Of course the lingerie items are all considered luxuries so you'll have to pay for them yourself."

"Of course," he said slowly. "Is it just me, or do you Martians seem to be well... somewhat preoccupied with sex?"

"No more so than any other culture in history," she said. "The difference here is that we embrace it instead of trying to hide it."

The waiter brought their food a moment later, setting two steaming plates down before them. Ken, who was quite hungry by now, dug into his cheeseburger, finding it to be nothing short of delicious. The meat was thick, tender, and very flavorful. The lettuce was crisp and green. The tomatoes had the unmistakable taste of vine-ripened. Even the cheese, which was sharp cheddar, seemed to have a texture that was much superior to what he was used to.

"You down with your food?" Karen asked as she watched him chomp and chew.

"Fuckin aye," he told her, hardly realizing he was using the Martian expression. "I think this is the best hamburger I've ever had."

"We take our food very seriously on Mars," she said. "That entire burger you're eating is made from Martian agricultural products. The meat and the cheese comes from the cattle production facilities outside of Proctor. The vegetables are from the greenhouses outside of Eden. Even the bread is made from wheat grown in the Libby greenhouses. Our quality control and production standards are quite stringent."

"I guess so," he said. "Is all the food on Mars this good?"

"You ain't tasted shit yet," she said. "This is nothing but a low budget convenience restaurant. Wait until I take you up to Branner's Chowdown up on top of the building. That's an exclusive, gourmet restaurant. Even that has nothing on Marcella's cooking though."

"Marcella? Who is Marcella?"

"My bitch," she said.

"Your... bitch?"

"Uh huh," Karen said with a nod. "I guess the closest thing you would call it is a..." She thought for a moment, trying to recall the terms, "uh... a housekeeper or a maid. Anyway, she makes most of my dinners on the nights I'm home. She's a culinary arts major at the university."

"You have a housekeeper?" he asked.

"A bitch is what we call them," she said. "She keeps the house clean, does most of my shopping for me, cooks my meals, and does my laundry. I pay her 150 credits a month and give her room and board. She's a nice girl. Wants to open her own restaurant someday. You'll like her I think."

"I see," he said. "What do you call them if they're male?"

"A bitch," she said. "The term is unisexual."

"Of course."

Ken had a few more bites of his burger, sipping from his wine between chews. "So I would assume," he said during the next pause, "that your restaurant business is private industry as well?"

"That's right," Karen confirmed. "Eating out is a luxury item. This restaurant is run by Belinda Maxely and her husband."

"So it's not part of a franchise or anything like that?"

"We don't allow franchises on Mars," she said. "That would be a violation of the anti-corporation clause of the constitution. Our founding parents were very clear on that point. Nothing that resembles big business will ever be allowed here."

"So where do you draw the line?" he wanted to know. "What if this Belinda person wants to open another restaurant?"

"She would not be allowed to," Karen said. "A citizen is only allowed to operate one business for their livelihood. She can change locations and open up somewhere else, but she cannot lease another space and open another shop."

"Doesn't that kind of unfairly limit her?"

"Not at all," she said. "As I told you before, prices are fixed here. In Belinda's case, she is allowed to charge a certain percentage for each menu item above what it cost her to assemble the ingredients. This percentage allows for all overhead costs, such as lease of the space and employee salaries, both of which are also fixed under the law, and a fair profit margin. If she has a proper location and fills a need at that location - which she most certainly does here - she will make a comfortable living and maybe, if she is really good at what she does, become fairly wealthy. Neither she, nor any other business owner is allowed to expand beyond that however, and, as I mentioned before, there is really no need to. Once a business reaches a certain size, once the owner becomes removed from the day to day operations, corruption and inefficiency sets in."

"So Belinda's Eats and Shit is a one of a kind place?"

"Located only in this building," Karen confirmed. "Other housing and commercial buildings have their own restaurants - all unique and run by individual owners. In fact, it somewhat works out that each housing building tends to be like a small community within itself. In this building for instance, we have a butcher, a grocer, a caffeine joint, several intoxicant bars, an electronics store, two clothing stores, a jewelry store, and a fine furnishings outlet. Each one of these stores is run by individuals or a family. Most of the people who live in this building shop at these stores for their day to day needs."

"So it's kind of like you're living in a small town, right here in this building," he said, starting to catch the concept.

"Fuckin aye," she said. "It really is kind of the way things were in small towns in the pre-corporation days on Earth. Our business owners are really the backbone of the luxury business on Mars and most of them thrive. Fully 30 percent of our working population are business owners or employees of them."

"What about unions? Do you have those? Is there a grocers union or a restaurant servers union?"

"We have no need for unions on Mars," she said. "In effect, the government itself serves as the union. Workers rights are a big section of our constitution. Salaries are fixed at a set level. Our standard workday is eight hours and our standard workweek is 32 hours. Any overtime, either at the daily level or at the weekly level, must be voluntary on the part of the worker and must be compensated at double time. Paid vacations are also regulated by the government and increase according to time on the job. Any grievances are handled quickly by an impartial government moderator."

Ken was fascinated by her explanation. It really did seem that these Martians knew what they were doing. "And since you don't allow big business or corporations," he said, following a train of thought she'd brought up the previous day, "it would be hard for your employers to lobby government officials to change the rules in their favor, or to corrupt the moderators."

"It would be impossible," she confirmed. "As I told you, our government officials remain reasonably pure to their mission, which is to keep the planet running fairly for everyone."

They finished up their meal a few minutes later and Karen pushed an icon on the menu screen that said "The Damages". A bill for 4.56 credits appeared along with an advisement to pay at their convenience and a thank you for patronizing Belinda's Eats and Shit.

"Now then," Karen said, pulling out her PC, "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to give you two hundred credits out of my account and you can buy lunch for me."

"You don't have to give me any money," Ken protested.

"I know that I don't have to," she said, "but I really want to. There are things you're going to want to buy while you get used to living here. Until you get a job or some other means of income, you won't be able to get credits any other way. Don't worry, I can afford it."