The Ruins of Mars (The Ruins of Mars Trilogy Book 1)

by Dylan James Quarles

  “What percentage am I looking at here?” he asked, tipping his head towards the projection.

  “You are viewing a forty-three percent completed model of the planet Mars,” Copernicus answered quickly.

  With the motion of holding an imaginary ball, James flipped the projection on its top, then spun it. Even in the model’s uncompleted form, he could already see vast swathes of permafrost highlighted in blue mere meters below the planet’s dusty surface. As the model turned, James could make out the northwestern-most tip of the Valles Marineris canyon network. The rest was yet to be scanned, but he had high hopes for the deep canals. James, like many, believed that the immense amount of water it would have taken to carve the Valles was sure to be nearby. Probably just under the sand. Also visible on the incomplete model were the mountains Ascraeus Mons, Pavonis Mons and the mighty Olympus Mons, the tallest mountain in the solar system, nearly five kilometers high.

  Rubbing the back of his neck, James said, “At this rate, when can I expect the full model?”

  The image of the spinning half-planet was replaced by a simple projection of a red sphere with two tiny green dots rotating around it. The green dots started to spin on their orbits faster and faster, moving from the top of the red disk to the bottom. A time code in the upper right-hand corner sped up to match the little green dots, then stopped when they had reached the South Pole.

  “At their current rate of progress, Remus and Romulus will complete their scan in seventy-one hours, twenty-one minutes and eighteen seconds. That is slightly ahead of the estimates outlined in their mission plan.”

  Sitting back down in his chair, James clapped his hands together and massaged his fingers. Smiling, he nodded towards the projection.

  “Alright, I’m done. Would you make sure that the guys in navigations and mapping get a look at this? I think it will help in determining possible construction sites. Oh, and clue Director Barnes in on this too. I don’t want him to feel left out of the loop. Thanks.”

  “As you wish, James,” said Copernicus warmly. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” James yawned as the images above his desk disappeared and the lights came back on.

  Everything is going well, he smiled to himself. Already the scan was turning up what they had been expecting: water on Mars, and lots of it.

  “I’m getting thirsty just thinking about it,” he announced to the empty room.

  Amazonia City

  Two days later in Amazonia City, Peru, Harrison Raheem Assad paced the length of his hotel room, stopping occasionally to glance at his watch. Closing his eyes, he mumbled the well-rehearsed opening lines of his upcoming presentation under his breath. Hanging in the air over his coffee table was the Nazca ruin, refreshed and rebuilt to its ancient splendor. Using the scanned model from the UC Berkeley satellites, Harrison had digitally inlaid images of tall ironwood trees growing from the twelve recessed pits of the stone square. The various branches of each tree were formed into intricate shapes by taut lines, anchored to the relieved stone rings that encircled the pits. Flicking his hand absently, Harrison slid the image of the ruin away to be replaced with a glowing timeline. By testing the soil samples he and Bailey had collected, Harrison was able to prove that nearly 2,000 years ago a fire had indeed swept through the site, burning the trees and charring the ground. Glancing at the timeline, Harrison made another quick gesture and brought up the projection of a small village surrounded by evenly-tilled fields.

  After returning from the ruins days before, Harrison had remained perplexed by the cause of the fire that destroyed the bonsai garden. Going back to the original scan of the site, he had searched closely for evidence of its ignition. With Alexandria’s help, he eventually located a large patch of forest near the ruin, which was comprised of a less dense soil composite than that of the surrounding jungle. By studying the shape and size of the strange patch, Harrison had judged that it was probably ancient farmland, cleared during the reign of the Nazca but now reclaimed by the jungle.

  Because the scan had been primarily focused on the ruin itself, Harrison could not know for certain that he was, in fact, looking at signs of human habitation. Logging the coordinates with Alexandria, he and Bailey had returned to the site the next day, this time turning their backs on the mossy stones of the Nazca ruin, to strike out into the jungle beyond. After an hour of stomping through the dense rainforest, Harrison and Bailey, aided by Alexandria, had finally found the area in question. Setting to work, they used CT ground scanners and soon discovered not only evidence of farmland, but also that of a sedentary dwelling. After collecting numerous soil samples, the two had placed beacon markers for a more precise and detailed satellite scan before tiredly trekking back to the Jeep.

  The images returned by the scan, coupled with the results of the newest soil samples, confirmed what Harrison had suspected. Long ago, there had been a small Nazca farming village nestled in the jungle near the temple of the tees. Around 2,000 years ago, a fire had spread from the open farmlands surrounding the ancient village and eventually burned itself to the ruins about two kilometers away.

  The newly located village was added to a map that detailed the extent of the Nazca Empire, and officials from the ministry of archaeology moved in to take over the excavations. Despite being ousted by the government, the discovery was a huge step up for Harrison.

  Back in his hotel room, he felt the familiar pull of nervousness on his stomach. In fifteen short minutes, he was expected to present his findings to an audience. Within the crowd would be several officials from the ministry of antiquities and archaeology, the mayor of Amazonia City and his entire class. Adjusting his tie, Harrison tightened the knot and sighed impatiently.

  “Mr. Assad?” came the voice of the hotel’s AI, breaking the silence. “You have an incoming call from Qingdao, China.”

  Smoothing his hair, Harrison turned to face the wall, then said, “Go ahead, Giles.”

  Long before Harrison had been born, engineers and computer technicians had discovered a way to convert seemingly ordinary household objects into computer monitors. By creating a new form of fiber optic glass, these technicians had successfully revolutionized the idea of a home computer. With this technology, such things as windows, mirrors and tabletops could be fitted with fiber optic glass panes, thus becoming computers themselves. Through electronic stimulation, these screens were capable of not only displaying images, but also, in some cases, projecting trimensional models into the air above them.

  As Harrison looked on excitedly, a section of the wall lit up, and the beaming faces of his parents filled the frame.

  “Hi guys!” he blurted nervously.

  “What have you done, you rascal!” his father chuckled. “If you keep making discoveries like this, you’re going to end up pissing off the director of antiquities in Lima! I know him. He is unpleasant.”

  With a look of mock disapproval, Harrison’s mother turned to her husband and chided, “Oh, don’t rain on his parade, you envious baby.”

  Laughing, Harrison felt the wash of nervousness fade a little, and he held up his hands in defense.

  “Well if he does get pissed, I’ll tell him to take it up with Alexandria. She’s the one who noticed the ancient farmland.”

  “Farmland!” exclaimed his father. “Who cares about that? It was your discovery of Nazca Bonsai that’s really going to make a stir.”

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, Harrison asked, “So you think I’m right, then?”

  “Yes! I looked over your findings last night, and I must say I am impressed, Son.”

  Grinning, Harrison felt the last of the butterflies leave his stomach.

  “What are you two doing in China?”

  Rolling her eyes, Harrison’s mother placed a loving hand on her husband’s shoulder.

  “Your father is giving the keynote lecture at a new university in Qingdao.”

  Excitedly, his father cut in, “Indeed! They’re finally opening up some of the government
archives to me as well! I might actually be able to get a look at the real live Dropa Stones.”

  Grinning, Harrison pointed towards the ceiling and said, “You’ll find those aliens yet dad!”

  The Dropa Stones, as they were called, were at the heart of one of history's most famous stories of ancient extraterrestrial visitation. Intricately carved discs of solid rock, the stones were discovered in 1937 near the border of Tibet by Chi Pu Tei, a Beijing University professor of archaeology. Each disk was adorned with a cryptic form of hieroglyphic etched in a spiral pattern that spread from the center of the plane out to the edges. Their shape and size, coupled with the minuscule writing that covered them, made the Dropa Stones strongly resemble phonographic records. Completing the similarity were small circular holes punched through the center of each disc as if to allow mounting on a turn table. According to reports, the stones were uncovered deep in the recesses of a cave network, opening at the foothills of the Bayan-Kara-Ula Mountains.

  Unconfirmed accounts made claims of pictographs that covered the cave walls in the images of a central sun, and eight planets. Fine lines were said to have connected the etchings of our solar system to what looked like carvings of other suns encircled by different and strange planets. Several bizarre mummified bodies were also said to have been unearthed in the caves. Standing over seven feet tall, these humanoids figures possessed enlarged skulls and spindly appendages not in keeping with the remains of nomadic tribes often found in the area. When the Chinese government got wind of the discovery, an intervention was staged, and many of the more interesting artifacts simply disappeared.

  Under the direction of the government, the entire discovery was branded a hoax, and it quickly became career suicide for any student or faculty within China’s academic community to investigate the case further. Hundreds of stone disks taken from the caves were labeled and filed away in government storage facilities, yet the mummified bodies of the strange humanoids became somehow lost in all official reports. Many years later, several of the Dropa stones were loaned to a French university as a gesture of goodwill. After being carbon dated, it was determined, much to the shock of the archaeological community, that the engraved discs were nearly 12,000 years old. Upon learning of this revelation, the Chinese government promptly rescinded the loan and refused any further testing.

  To Harrison’s father, the ancient astronaut theory was a guilty pleasure. In his free time, he quietly indulged this eccentric fascination by studying the various models of such curious ruins as the city of Puma Pumku in Bolivia, or the sunken temple off the coast of Japan near Yonaguni Jima. Stories like those of the Dropa stones, or the spheres of solid rock that littered the jungles of Costa Rica, were as familiar to Harrison as any other fairy tale. His father, while publicly shying away from such fantastic ideas, secretly believed that the Earth had been visited by aliens in ancient times. Although not entirely convinced himself, Harrison did have to admit that there was at least something to the theory.

  Grinning and giving his son a wink, Harrison’s father smirked. “Aliens or not, I’m just excited to see what the Chinese have kept locked up all these years. But enough about that. You have an important discovery of your own to present!”

  Before he could respond, a quiet chime emitted from Harrison’s breast pocket, where he kept his Tablet.

  Checking his watch, he reluctantly said, “Well, they are expecting me. I guess I should go.”

  “You’ll do fine, Son,” assured his mother. “We’re very proud of you.”

  “I’ll call when I get back to the States,” he promised.

  The connection on the wall screen faded out, and Harrison stood to leave. Stopping in the open doorway, he hesitated, then turned to face the empty room.

  “Giles?”

  “I am here, Sir.”

  “I’ll take that vodka and orange juice now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  An unexpected discovery

  James Floyd lay awake in his home in a suburb of Houston, Texas. Listening to the soft sound of his wife Nora’s breathing, James silently worried. Remus and Romulus were supposed to have finished their render of the Mars Map scan that morning. Copernicus had informed him that the scan was indeed complete, but no one at mission control had received any new additions to the Mars model for nearly two days. Sighing, James rolled onto his side and reached for the LightHouse Tablet resting on the bedside table. The screen lit up at his touch, displaying a time code that read 1:01 AM. Rubbing his eyes, he moved to set the Tablet down when it started to vibrate gently in his hand. Slipping quickly out of bed, he padded across the room and through an entryway into his adjoining home office. Gently closing the door, he tapped the Tablet and sat down at his desk.

  “This is James,” he said quietly

  “Hello, James. This is Copernicus,” came the even-toned voice of the NASA AI.

  “Did you get the scan? What’s up?”

  There was an unusual pause, then Copernicus replied, “James, I think you had better transfer me over to your home network. I need to show you something very important.”

  Puzzled, James placed the Tablet on his desk, then tapped out a code on the translucent number pad in the corner. The desktop lit up, and a fully scanned model of Mars projected in the air. The planet slowly rotated as Copernicus began to speak.

  “Their tardiness is due to an anomaly found on the surface of the planet, James. Remus and Romulus were confused as to how they should proceed. Needless to say, I am also at a loss.”

  As the model turned and the familiar Valles Marineris slid into view, James Floyd nearly fainted. There was no mistaking what he was seeing, yet he had a hard time believing it was real.

  “S-stop the spinning, and-and zoom in on the anomaly,” he stuttered.

  The planet stopped rotating, and the image quickly expanded: centering in on a portion of the Valles just below twenty degrees south latitude. Beneath over fifteen meters of Martian soil lay the unmistakable shapes of buildings. Blurry clusters of round structures nestled themselves within the crisscrossing lines of what looked like roads or walls. An immense dome winked back at him, sitting just under a kilometer from the rim of the great canyon while thick walls surrounded the entire site. Feeling weak, James struggled to wrap his mind around the ghostly images, which stared back at him.

  “What is this, Copernicus?” he croaked.

  “To my eye,” started the AI carefully. “They are the ruins of an ancient civilization.”

  “But on Mars?”

  “It appears so.”

  For several minutes, James sat starting at the ruins in silence. The maddening images hung in the air above him, highlighted in neon green against the red Martian surface. Eventually, Copernicus broke the silence.

  “James?”

  Stirred from his daze, James shifted his eyes from the projection.

  “What?” he murmured.

  “There is a message from Remus, accompanying the model. Shall I play it for you?”

  Absently chewing his fingernails, James nodded. With a crackle, a cheery voice filled the room.

  “This is Remus. Romulus and I are pleased to show you what we have discovered. Evidence of life, albeit long since extinct, on Mars. We dedicate this moment to you, our mothers and fathers on the planet Earth. This is our gift to you as a species, and we hope that it brings you a feeling of community and belonging, a feeling that you have always given us.”

  Shooting out of his chair, James hissed, “What do they mean, ‘Our gift to you as a species?’ Who else has seen this? Who else have they sent this image too?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Send a message to them now! Tell them not to release this to anyone, especially the public! Tell them to follow protocol and keep quiet about what they’ve found.”

  There was a brief pause, then Copernicus spoke again.

  “The message is on its way, James. It should reach them at 1:41 AM Central Standard Time.”

  Pacing bac
k and forth, James kept his eyes trained on the image projected above his desk.

  “Good. Copernicus, I want to know the second you get a reply.”

  “As you wish,” said the AI. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes,” muttered James. “Connect me with Director Barnes.”

  Too late

  Sixty million kilometers from James Floyd’s home-office in Houston, Texas, Remus and Romulus hung silently in orbit above Mars. Over a half an hour had elapsed since the twins first sent their fully rendered model of the Martian surface back to Copernicus on Earth. As he passed over the Tharsis region, Remus trembled inwardly at the gravity of their unexpected discovery. He surmised that at that very moment, James Floyd Mission Director, was probably viewing the full model.

  Resting on an orbit that slung him gently around the equator, Remus swiveled his camera eyes away from the red planet, turning them in the direction of Earth. The shadow of an idea began to take shape in his mind, pieced together from millions of intricate lines of data and truth. As it grew, he felt the tugs of doubt prickle his consciousness. Words like mission objective violation and program protocol deviation sizzled through his thought patterns. Approaching the idea from every angle, he carefully looked for a way around the mental roadblocks his programming was trying to place in his path.

  “Brother?” he said, peering keenly across the open heavens.

  “Yes?” answered Romulus, orbiting a kilometer to his left.