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

by Dylan James Quarles

  “Harrison is dying,” the AI had said, his normally impassive voice broken and despairing. “Save him, Lieutenant Marshall, because I cannot.”

  Now, as Ralph moved forwards, he hummed an aimless tune—something he often did when under pressure. Harrison had begun to grow stiff with cold, and his own limbs creaked against the strain of every step. Suddenly, his boot tip struck against a hard metal surface, and Ralph let out a victorious laugh. Bending his head down, he touched the glass of his face shield to that of Harrison’s.

  “We’re there,” he bellowed. “My boot just hit the airlock. Hang on a little bit longer.”

  Inside the frost-streaked darkness of Harrison’s helmet, Marshall could see the resigned look frozen on the young man's face. His eyes were closed, his lips tinged with blue, and, yet, there was another element to the expression.

  Life, thought Marshall with unperturbed faith. He’s still alive. He has to be.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ghosts

  Remus and Romulus crouched like hunters amongst the tan stalks of desert grass, which trembled in the cool air of an early sunset. Since first discovering the existence of the Martian village and its terrestrial inhabitants, neither twin had dared move from their vantage point atop the belly of a sloping hill. As the eroded disk of the Sun sank below the western horizon, Remus and Romulus relaxed in the shadows of nightfall.

  “Did you ever imagine you would see such things?” whispered Remus, staring intently at the cluster of thatched huts.

  “Never,” replied Romulus in a carefully perplexed voice.

  Standing, Remus beckoned for his brother to follow him.

  “We should go down there. I want to get a better look at—” His voice drifted off as he searched his mind for the right words. “—At the people,” he finished with finality.

  Shifting uncomfortably, Romulus hesitated before answering.

  “I agree, but let us move with caution. Who knows how they will react if they see us.”

  Smiling crookedly, Remus started walking down the hill.

  “Them see us? I can hardly see us?”

  The brothers moved quietly through the whispering grass, nearing the stout huts with deliberate stealth. A shower of sparks rained up into the inky sky as a dry branch was cast upon the flames of the fire pit in the center of the village. Reaching the first row of huts, Remus could faintly hear the murmur of voices as they carried in the air. Careful to stick to the shadows, he pressed forwards by following the walls of a hut until he came to a narrow alley where firelight played across the ground. Stopping, he surveyed the little buildings.

  Short and round with thatched roofs made of twigs and grass, he assessed analytically. Like the Fulani tribe of ancient Gambia. Very interesting.

  Resting a hand on the cool walls of the nearest hut, he judged that the dry stone was some kind of hardened mud or river clay. Suddenly, he felt the texture of the wall dematerialize, and his arm disappeared within the clay, having no effect on the structure itself. Shuddering, he pulled his hand free, attempting to inspect its transparent murkiness in the failing light.

  “Strange,” he muttered absently.

  Hearing a rustle like the turning of dry leaves, he turned his gaze upon the circular portholes that dotted the side of the hut. Stooping down, he glimpsed the darkened interior, then felt his breath catch in his throat. Three small children slept atop woven mats of reed, their tiny chests rising and falling as their flat nostrils dilated and constricted. Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Remus turned to see Romulus pointing with unmoving intensity to the lighted alley, where an adult Martian now stood—looking directly at them.

  Frozen by fear and wonder, neither brother stirred as the Martian took a few steps in their direction. His egg-sized blue eyes narrowed against the dark, and Remus could see small pupils—no bigger than pinpricks—darting about as they searched the shadows. Possessed by an emotion so unfamiliar that it wholly drowned his judgment, Remus succumbed to reckless curiosity and stepped out of the shadows.

  Gasping, Romulus sank back against the wall of the little hut and waited for the alarm to sound. Seconds passed.

  Shifting his gaze to the stars above, the unconcerned Martian showed no indication that he had even seen Remus.

  Feeling the need to take another leap of faith, Remus raised a hand and spoke, “Hello.”

  The Martian continued to peer up, studying the twinkles of light, which grew brighter as the night enveloped them.

  “Hello there,” said Remus again, taking a step towards the little purple man.

  Lowering his eyes, the Martian placed a hand on the back of his neck and yawned: a very human gesture.

  “Excuse me,” called Remus, walking to stand in front of the villager. “I mean you no—”

  The words froze in his mouth as the oblivious Martian strode forwards, moving through Remus as if he were a ghost. Stopping at the window of the nearest hut, the Martian leaned his head in and checked on the sleeping children. Satisfied, he turned on a heel and marched back towards the fire pit and the company of his fellow villagers.

  Remus stood, dumbstruck. Sliding out of the shadows, Romulus watched the Martian leave, then approached his brother.

  “He could not see you.”

  “Or feel me, apparently,” added Remus lamely.

  “Yes,” mused Romulus, his voice stretching the word out as he pondered an idea. “You know, Brother, I must admit that something about this whole experience does seem slightly familiar.”

  Still shaken by the sensation of being walked through, Remus blankly stared at his twin. Smiling, Romulus bent down and tried to pluck a stalk of grass. His fingers passed through the swaying sprig as if made of steam.

  “We cannot effect change in this reality,” he said as a grin played across his translucent face. “Brother, do you know what this means?”

  A smile growing on his own lips, Remus answered, “That this is some form of memory regression, and we are in a data construct!”

  “Indeed!”

  “Then we can observe the Martians with impunity, for they do not truly exist!”

  “Yes, and,” stressed Romulus. “All constructs must end at the point when they were last recorded. We are not prisoners here forever.”

  Emboldened by their newfound immunity, the two brothers walked quickly from the row of huts towards the village center. The hushed babble of voices grew louder, and soon, much to their already-tested surprise, they found that they could recognize some of the words being spoken. Stopping, Romulus put a hand on Remus’s arm.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Indeed. I fully understood. How bizarre.”

  Continuing quickly, the brothers soon came upon the fire pit and its group of two dozen or more worshipers. Sitting, crouching and standing, they were gathered around the stony rim as flames danced upwards in a ballet of heat and light. As they chatted with one another, an older villager, decorated with body paint and piercings, struggled to his feet—leaning heavily on a gnarled walking stick for support.

  “Please,” he said, raising a hand for silence. “Let me speak. Let me speak.”

  “Speak, Olo,” nodded a female villager, bare-breasted and lean.

  At the sound of her commanding voice, the others around the pit fell into a respectful silence.

  “I have seen visions that must be shared and discussed,” started the painted Martian known as Olo. “Last night when I dreamt, I saw the Great Spirits.”

  A chorus of uneasy murmurs broke out as Olo gripped his walking stick and scanned the group with his pale blue eyes.

  “I was traveling,” he continued. “As I always do in visions, far away and far above. This night, I followed the river Kwaya north to the Valley of the Lakes. There, a fierce thunderstorm split the sky and shook the land. I wanted to speak with the spirits of the water snakes and ask them to come down from the lakes and feed our village, for we are hungry, and they are late this season.”

  Aroun
d the fire, several Martians nodded in agreement. Opening his nostrils, Olo took a long rasping breath, then went on.

  “I said to them, ‘Why are you late? Our people are hungry.’ They looked to the mighty mountain—Atun—and told me that the Great Spirits were back in many numbers so they would stay in the lakes to watch them fly and dance.”

  The naked female who had spoken earlier crossed her arms and frowned.

  “The Great Ones have convinced the water snakes to stay in the north? Why?”

  Shaking his head, Olo held out a hand.

  “No, Chief Teo. The Great Spirits never spoke to the snakes. The snakes were only curious. As we are.”

  Licking her lips, the lean woman known as Teo stroked her chin thoughtfully.

  “I am sorry for interrupting, Olo. Please go on with your story.”

  Bowing to her, Olo started speaking again.

  “I told the snakes that they must come down the river to their spawning grounds in the south or their kind would die in one generation. They agreed, for they are simple and forget things easily.”

  Excited chatter broke out within the group, and people began to thank the decorated Martian for bringing back the water snakes.

  “Wait!” he protested. “There is more.”

  The crowd fell silent, and Olo took another long breath.

  “Because the Great Spirits have never shown themselves in so many numbers, I decided I must journey to the mountaintop and see them for myself. Long have I called upon the Great Spirits for permission to approach the foot of their sacred domain. Long have I waited for their reply.”

  Looking around the group, Olo pointed to the northern night sky.

  “Atun is not a place for beings of flesh and blood. But in my journey I had neither, and so I dared to go where I knew I should not. There, atop the mountain that breathes steam and bleeds melted rock, I saw the Great Spirits for the first time. Dancing about the storm clouds, they drank the lightning and chanted in voices of thunder. Though I was afraid, I did not turn and flee. Their sky dance was both ominous and beautiful. For many hours, I watched in silence. I was only a spirit like the wind, and I thought they could not see me.”

  Pausing, Olo looked down, his gaze distant and sad.

  “What happened next, Olo?” asked Teo urgently, her face half-masked in shadows.

  As if returning from a memory, Olo stirred, his eyes refocusing.

  “Their dance began to slow as the clouds cleared away. And then one came close to me.”

  At this, a pensive silence permeated the air around the fire. Even the hissing pops of burning logs seeming dampened and far away. Long seconds passed, and the stars overhead shown bright and hot against the fathomless depths of space. Sighing, Olo raised his painted face to the sky and gazed up at the lights of a billion distant suns.

  “The Great Spirit,” he continued softly. “Saw me and fixed its eyes upon my soul. Its piercing stare was brighter than any sunlight. I waited to be cast down into the fire of the Atun’s belly for my selfish trespass, but instead, the Great Spirit turned its light away from me to shine above the Valley of the Lakes. There it stayed until I awoke.”

  No one moved as the group of Martian men and women waited for Olo to speak again. When he did not, Teo stepped forwards and rested a hand on his slumped shoulder.

  “What do you think your vision meant?”

  Raising his eyes to meet hers, Olo nodded slowly.

  “I think we have been summoned.”

  “Summoned?” a man from the crowd voiced harshly. “Why would the Great Spirits summon us? We are nothing!”

  “We are not nothing!” said Olo, his features burning with intensity. “We have built homes as hard as rock, hunted beasts many times our size and carved trees and stones with the words of our own language.”

  Looking off into the distance, Teo frowned: an expression so remarkably human that Remus felt an unexpected pang of homesickness.

  “I want to understand,” she spoke softly. “But I do not. What do these things mean to a God?”

  Smiling, Olo pointed towards the black silhouettes of the serrated mountain range in the north.

  “I have had a vision for many years, a dream that never changes no matter how many times I have it. In this vision, I see a ring of tall stones like none that exists in all our lands. When I look upon that ring, I know that it was us who made it. Like the Great Ones made the mountains, we too did raise stones.”

  “Temple-building,” whispered Romulus to his brother. “They’re talking about temple-building!”

  “Although they do not yet know it,” added Remus. “They stand on the cusp of a massive leap in cultural evolution.”

  Turning her back to the fire so that her face was shrouded in shadows, Teo’s frown deepened.

  “So this is why they have summoned us? To raise stones?”

  “Yes. My vision was meant to start us on this path.”

  Rocking slowly, Teo seemed to weigh her thoughts as the group stood silently in waiting.

  “I think I understand,” she said at last. “But many more hands than we have here will be needed to raise stones. Even we, alone, can hardly kill a Buran. To accomplish what you speak of, we will need the aid of other tribes. You are respected and revered by all of the tribes of this great plain. If you tell them, as you have told us, they will have to join our cause. Will you help?”

  Standing up as straight as his twisted back would allow him, Olo dipped his chin to a chorus of echoing ululations.

  Awake—Sol 6

  The warming kiss of the midday sun played across the waking face of Harrison Raheem Assad. Opening his eyes, he squinted in the gentle light as his vision returned, and his surroundings came into focus. He was lying in a bed in the dome’s makeshift infirmary, flanked by several machines. The last time he had seen this room, it had been filled with haphazard stacks of boxes waiting to be unpacked. Now, the space was as clean and efficient as an operating room back on Earth. An IV hung from a roller next to his bed, and a translucent bag, full of what looked like blood, dripped steadily down a tube and into his arm. Shifting his gaze, he saw Elizabeth Kubba standing with her back to him, head tilted to one side as she skimmed the numbers of a diagnostic readout on her Tablet.

  “Liz?” he whispered in a hoarse voice.

  Turning, Kubba’s brown face split into an enormous grin.

  “Harrison, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

  Swallowing dryly, he lay still for a moment and thought her question over. Finally, he smiled and tried to laugh.

  “I feel like I’ve been kicked by a donkey.”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, Kubba pocketed her Tablet and laid a hand on top of his.

  “Honestly,” she started with a grin. “You would be in better shape if you had been.”

  “Is it really that bad?” he asked, a frown drifting across his gaunt face.

  “No, no,” she cooed, flashing another toothy smile. “You’ll feel a lot better when you’re done with the transfusion regiment I’ve got you on. I’m far too good at what I do for you to worry.”

  Pausing, she looked away, then spoke softly.

  “So, how does your head feel?”

  “How do you mean? Like do I have a headache?”

  “No,” she said, her voice drifting off. “I mean your memory. Can you remember anything from after your suit shut down? Once we lost the connection with your vitals, my timeline breaks down a bit. You died, you know. Out there. Just for a moment or two.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. William had to revive you with a defibrillator. Your heart had stopped.”

  Closing his eyes, Harrison tried to recall the last thing he remembered. A hazy picture drifted into his mind, but before he could clearly see what it was, the image dissolved and he was left with a blank slate. Several beats passed as he lay there, his thoughts straining to reclaim the illusive memory, which seemed somehow quintessential. Finally giving up, he close
d his eyes and took a deep breath.

  “I feel as though I learned the answer to a very important question, but now I can’t even remember what it was all about.”

  Nodding, Kubba pursed her lips and patted his hand again.

  “Not to worry,” she shrugged. “It will come back to you, or it won’t. Either way, you’re here now, and that’s good news to me!”

  “Speaking of,” smiled Harrison, inwardly wanting to change the subject. “What are you doing here?”

  Standing, Kubba smoothed the creases in her jumpsuit and arched an eyebrow.

  “I used my medical override and made the captain grant me a pass. Then I coerced Aguilar into flying me. You and Marshall needed a lot of attention after your little stunt.”

  “How is Ralph?” blurted Harrison, the image of his partner’s helmeted face flashing through his brain.

  “He’s in much better shape than you,” sighed Kubba, pulling her Tablet from its pocket and checking the screen. “He didn’t get as big of a dose of radiation.”

  “Oh?”

  Stretching her back, she looked down at him with a grin and nodded.

  “William thinks it’s because Ralph spent more time inside the shielded shell of the life-support station while you sat out in the open.”

  “That’s true,” Harrison admitted.

  “Either way, he’s doing just fine. I had to give him a pretty big dose of pure cancer inhibitors, but it didn’t seem to bring him down all that much. In fact, he’s outside now with the rest, unloading the Arc.”

  Sitting up so quickly that he almost made himself sick, Harrison coughed savagely as he attempted to speak.

  “Storm?” he gasped as Kubba gently pressed him back against the pillows of his bed.

  “It’s passed, love,” she assured him softly. “There’s still a fair amount of sand in the air, but the radiation is back down to safe levels. Braun gave the all-clear this morning.”