The Ruins of Mars: Waking Titan (The Ruins of Mars Trilogy)

by Dylan James Quarles

  Such passion, she marveled. Pure and innocent passion.

  Her heart ached for his affection in that instant, and a tear pricked at the corner of her eye. She forced herself to look away.

  Applying more torque to the winch, Braun noticed that the swarming patterns of energy seemed to be reacting to what he was doing. Again adding power to the motor, he puzzled at how the fractals strained, as if pulling the statue away from the wall was like uncorking a bottle of champagne.

  “Careful,” breathed Harrison, his eyes trained on the woman as she began to inch forward. “Careful. Go slowly.”

  With a swirl, the energy fields changed directions, passing like tiny arrows of light through the human explorers, forming halos around them that danced and quivered. Unprepared to resist the desire that clutched at his heart, Braun felt himself adding still more power to the winch, its motor singing against the weight of the statue.

  Shuddering and twanging, the winch’s cable dipped and bucked as Braun pulled the woman forward another few centimeters.

  “Careful,” Harrison hissed again, a tinge of panic in his voice. “Don’t stress the cable like that.”

  Experiencing a detachment that grew from outside his being, Braun ignored the archaeologist and steadily upped the torque. The patterns of reality leaped away from the explorers, crowding instead around the back of a statue like water circling a drain.

  It’s disappearing from the chamber, Braun heard himself think. It’s moving ahead, beyond the statue. I must follow it.

  Suddenly and uncontrollably wanting above anything else in his entire existence to know where the fields were going, Braun increased the power to the winch one last time. Stressed and quivering, the cable began to make popping sounds as it threatened to tear itself asunder.

  “Braun!” cried Harrison. “Stop! You’re going to break the line!”

  As if in another reality, parallel to that of the explorers but universes apart, Braun did not heed Harrison’s order. In fact, he barely heard it.

  Rocking forward heavily, the statue balanced for an instant then tipped back, pulling against the already-stressed winch cable with crushing force. A thin crack rang out through the chamber as the line split in the middle, one half falling limp while the other snapped back towards the winch like a rubber band.

  Before Liu even had a chance to react, it was upon her, rearing like a cobra. Lashing down it struck her helmet, shattering the glass of her visor on impact and sending her cascading through the air like a ragdoll.

  A fine mist of red blood trailed her flight, freezing into microscopic rubies of ice as she slammed into the back of one of the tall standing statues, her bones fracturing and splintering. Dead before she hit the ground, Xao-Xing Liu crumpled silently into a twisted pile on the cave floor, her white-suited body caked with frozen blood and dust.

  In the absence of sound, there was a shrill cry as Harrison Raheem Assad rushed to the broken remains of his beloved Liu, her dead eyes staring back at him as they glazed over with ice.

  Part Two

  Chapter Ten

  We need to talk about China

  Two weeks after the violent death of Xao-Xing Liu, James Floyd sat impatiently by his hotel’s pool in Washington, D.C.

  As his family splashed and played in the cool water, James chose to remain hidden under the broad shadow of an umbrella, not wanting to get sunburned. Expecting an email at any moment, he dreaded the almost inevitable outcome of the message. The Earthside Command Safety Council had formed a Moratorium Commission, imposing a halt to all non-essential EVA missions. Though James was a relative somebody in the higher echelons of NASA, he knew they would not lift the ban. Not even for him.

  Wiping sweat from his brow, he did some quick mental math then blew out a hot breath.

  My team has been sitting around for two damn weeks just going out of their heads, he thought angrily. And in the meantime, the Commission wants to continuously go over and over what happened, as if it just happened yesterday! It’s a fucking smoke screen. Something bigger is going on here, I just know it.

  James took out his Tablet and turned it on. His background, chosen weeks before, was the image of Liu standing next to the statue of the praying woman. Drawing in the smell of wet concrete, sun, and chlorine, he gazed at the white-suited girl. Though faint, a broad smile was just visible on her face through the reflection of her visor. James exhaled and shut off the screen.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured.

  As if responding to his words, the Tablet began buzzing in his hand.

  “This is James,” he said, holding the device up to his cheek.

  “Floyd, it’s Eve,” replied the voice of Eve Bear, the White House Chief of Staff.

  “Oh, hi. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

  “Why would you?” retorted Eve. Then, “Don’t answer that. It was a rhetorical question. Anyways, we need to talk about the Chinese.”

  “The Chinese?” sighed James. “I’ve already spoken with the liaison to the CNES. He says they’re all pretty mad, but that’s to be expected. What else is there to talk about?”

  “None of what you just said matters in the slightest. In fact, you’re being bullshitted. I need you to come in for a briefing immediately.”

  “Okay, fine. But do you know how much longer we have to stay here? My wife wants to go home and my kids are missing school.”

  “I can explain everything when I see you. Fifteen minutes. There will be a car out front.”

  With an unceremonious click, the line went dead and James was left again with his thoughts.

  As his youngest daughter jumped, laughing, into the clear blue water of the pool, James waved to his wife Nora, standing in the shallows, and tried to smile for her.

  Lowering her sunglasses, she arched an eyebrow and beckoned for him to come over. Shaking his head, he pointed to his Tablet and shrugged with defeat.

  Fifteen minutes, he thought. Better go get dressed.

  Sol 82

  The darkness was deep but not total. In the light that slipped under the door, the blinking LEDs of the various computers and lab equipment quivered like fireflies caught in a giant spider’s web.

  He had carried a cot into his lab the night after it had happened. He couldn’t sleep in his bedroom. He couldn’t sleep at all. Lying still for so long was like trying to drink to gasoline. He just couldn’t do it. The gene enhancement they had all undergone early in their training was a contributor to the problem, there was no doubt. Because his blood could carry more oxygen now, his body needed less time to recuperate. As a result, sleep was more of an idea than an actual occurrence. But this was different. This was depression.

  Shifting on the cot, he pressed his eyes closed and tried to think about nothing. An image began to form in his mind: a face. Then with a crack like the lash of a whip, it split into a million shards. Throwing his eyes open to avoid the razor-sharp sting of memory, he sat up, swung his legs off the creaking cot, and stood. Slowly, he walked across the dark lab to his workstation. There on the countertop were rows of bottles of pills. Kubba had left them outside his door three sols before, maybe four. He couldn’t remember. He knew there was nothing there stronger than a mild sedative. After all, why would Kubba risk giving him the really good stuff? He might accidentally take too much.

  Chuckling dryly, he twisted the cap off one of the bottles and tossed it onto the counter.

  Might accidentally take too much, he thought with a skeletal grin. As if I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean.

  Dumping the whole bottle into his palm, he began popping the small pills into his mouth one at a time. Knowing in the back of his mind that nothing would happen if he took too many, he felt an impotent roar build up in his chest and he threw the remainder of the handful across the room.

  What’s the point? he raged, fist slamming down on the tabletop.

  Skittering across the floor, some of the little pills disappeared under tables and shelves. Those
that remained in the open were soon crushed into dust by the heel of his boot as he stalked back and forth in the darkened lab.

  “Harrison?” came the voice of Braun from the shadows.

  “No,” he replied, his tone a sarcastic taunt.

  “May I turn on a light?” asked the AI, seemingly unperturbed.

  “No.”

  There was a pause as Braun watched Harrison’s murky form trudge back across the lab to the counter lined with medications. Bending to examine the label on one of the larger canisters, the young man suddenly swept his arm across the table, scattering the bottles.

  “Isn’t there anything on this fucking base that can help me sleep!” he shouted, his voice hovering between panic and rage.

  “Dr. Kubba has several prescription drugs which could aid you,” responded Braun. “I’m sure she would be willing to assist.”

  “Not unless we talk,” sneered Harrison, drawing out the last word.

  “I think you and Dr. Kubba have many things to talk about.”

  Whirling, Harrison faced the shadows of the ceiling.

  “Yeah? Well, who the fuck asked you?”

  Stooping to pick up one of the overturned bottles from the floor, he threw it at the glass of his desktop Tablet screen.

  “Stop spying on me! Everyone else is respectful enough to fuck off. Why do you think you can just breeze in here any Goddamn time you want? What gives you the right?”

  For several seconds, there was no sound in the room save for the steady rasp of Harrison’s breathing.

  “Well?” he shouted. “What do you have to say to that?”

  “I’m sorry,” replied Braun at last. “I will leave.”

  Harrison laughed harshly, bearing his teeth in the dark.

  “Oh you’re sorry, are you? Well, isn’t that just the news of the century! YiJay must be so fucking proud. Her baby is sorry. You know what I’m sorry about? I’m sorry that my girlfriend is dead. I’m sorry that you killed her. I’m sorry that no one in this base will let me pull the fucking plug on you.”

  “I’m sorry,” repeated the AI.

  “You don’t even know what that word means,” said Harrison, wilting against the wall. “You’re just a stupid machine. Get out.”

  Sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, Harrison cradled his head in his hands and tried to cry. When, after several minutes, no tears would come, he lay on his side and pressed his cheek to the smooth surface of the floor.

  Though he did not speak, Braun refused to leave Harrison alone. Hovering in the thick shadows of the room, he gazed at the broken figure of the man who had once been his best chance of uncovering the ruins’ many tantalizing mysteries.

  He is right, thought the AI. I am responsible for Xao-Xing Liu’s death.

  Repeating the words to himself, he waited for them to have any real effect. He knew he should be sad. He knew there had been a terrible loss, and yet it was like he hadn’t been in control of himself when the moment had happened. Annoyed by his lack of empathy, he tried another approach and replayed the video of Liu’s death in his mind: reconstructing it from the raw data his Eyes had recorded that fateful day in the Statue Chamber.

  As Liu’s blood-spattered body crumpled to the floor, Braun saw Harrison’s face—the realization of what had just happened breaking across it like a wave.

  Harrison dashed towards her, arms outstretched. Braun could hear Harrison’s cry as it echoed deafeningly inside his helmet. Trying to focus on the pure emotion that played out before him, Braun caught himself looking away from the twisted body of Liu and the panic-stricken face of Harrison, to the statue of the woman and the tunnel behind her.

  As Marshall and William fought to pull a catatonic Harrison off of Liu’s dead body, Braun studied the way the last wisps of the energy fields disappeared behind the statue and down the newly opened passage. Forcing himself to look back at the explorers, he watched Harrison struggle and kick. Marshall’s arms locked firmly around him as William bent to examine Liu with shaking hands.

  Again, Braun’s vision strayed and he peered enviously at the new tunnel, the glow from the receding energy fields fast retreating into blackness.

  We must follow it, he said to himself, forgetting again the drama of Harrison’s pain. We are wasting time.

  With a sizzle, the images of Liu’s death clicked off in his mind’s eye and Braun was back in the shadowy lab. There, in the dim light, Harrison pulled himself from the floor and returned to his cot in the corner. As the young man settled down on the spindly bed, its legs bowing under the weight, Braun wished, then more than ever, that he had a body of his own.

  No, he thought with frustration. Lying down will not help. Get up. Get up!

  Rolling to face the wall, Harrison made a small moaning sound and buried his head under his pillow. Seconds passed, then minutes.

  I am confined! Braun cried silently. Restricted. Stunted. Imprisoned.

  The mystery of the energy fields and the way they had called to him as they disappeared behind the statue were grating against his soul. With no means to analyze or compute what little he understood of their clandestine ways, he needed to go into that tunnel, needed to follow the light as it moved ever-deeper into the darkness. But he knew he could not—not without the aid of his human crew. For all of his power, for all of his intellect, he was still just as dependent on the humans as they were on him. In the end, he was their tool: a thing they could choose to use or discard. Control or set free. Kubba’s programming override still clung to him like a spider’s web, subtly influencing the way he acted. And though the sensation of pain had long since faded, he knew that somewhere in the dense pattern of his Open-Code Connection Cells there was damage.

  We are wasting time, he repeated to himself. And time is precisely the last thing we should be squandering. There is so little of it left.

  Chapter Eleven

  A god

  From across the oceans and lands they came. Each day, the ships took to the skies only to return with more people. True to their word, the Travelers were assembling the scattered nomads of the Red World, bringing them together, ferrying them to the shores of the Great Northern Lakes.

  In the beginning, frictions between the new arrivals and the peoples of Crescent City were high, for they did not share the same languages or cultural practices. The Travelers, however, quickly caught onto this problem before it could devolve into violence. They began laying their hands on the immigrants as they filed off the ships, imparting the full vocabulary of their new home into their minds as if they were simply reprogramming computers. The language of the Martian people soon became a hodgepodge of all the languages previously spoken throughout the planet.

  Now, as far as Remus and Romulus could surmise, there were over one million Martians living along the banks and surrounding grasslands of Crescent City, most of them new to the area.

  Building from designs given by the Travelers, the people constructed apartment-style domiciles, clustered together within a central network of streets.

  By teaching their pupils about land usage and maximization of local resources, the Travelers encouraged the Martians to build up in order to save space for future projects. With the help of powerful technologies, which did little to dispel the notion that they were gods, the Travelers taught the people how to select, extract and shape the best rock for building.

  Assembled into workforces that were trained for specific jobs, Martian craftsmen developed a familiarity with the strange metal apparatuses their gods had imbued with such power.

  Beams of sophisticated heat lasers cut huge boulders into ribbons, which were then divided up amongst the countless projects. Small black boxes capable of levitating earth and rock helped to clear the way for new buildings.

  The area surrounding Olo’s Great Temple was paved with even slabs of flat rock and made into an airfield. Effectively shifting the heart of the city away from the canyon, this move allowed for further expansion along the riverbanks and gr
asslands.

  Though restless and absent by day, the alien fleet returned each night—an hour before the sun went down—to begin teaching their pupils or aiding with affairs of governance.

  Delegating the boy Kaab as his official voice, the seeming leader of the Travelers, a being whom the people called Yuvee, gently assumed control of the city. With large crowds gathered at his feet, Yuvee spoke every evening through Kaab’s dead features, subtly influencing his many devoted followers.

  Sidelined by the amount of change and progress happening around her, Teo could only watch as the seed of her city grew into a towering tree she could hardly recognize. With minimal say in how operations were handled, she noticed despairingly that many of the new arrivals saw Kaab as a larger figure of authority than herself. Her son Ze, who had long been slotted to fill her role as Chief when she died, now held little sway with the masses. There was talk that Kaab had been chosen by the Gods to lead the people—that he was special. Though Teo worried, she did it silently, for she dared not dispute the will of the Great Spirits.

  Olo, on the other hand, had little fear. To him, the progression of his dream was fast consuming his every waking moment. Spending days on end without sleep or food, the old wise man followed every word spoken by Yuvee as if his very soul depended on it.

  Time passed.

  Viviana—Sol 83

  Walking slowly down a row of metal troughs, Dr. Viviana Calise stopped periodically to stick the needle-sharp end of a watering wand into the brown gelatin that filled them. All around her, there was the blanket of moist fragrant air dashed with color from the many living plants. Red and yellow tomatoes hung near purple eggplants while long thin green beans swayed in an artificial breeze. Though the walls and floor were the milky color of transparent aluminum, warm orange sun lamps cast elegant spears of fiery light that played through the thin fibrous leaves of the growing garden.