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

by Dylan James Quarles

  Of Donovan’s numerous functions, his most controversial was the collection of human profiles. In the age of information, all people, whether consciously or not, contributed to the creation of an informational profile. With every search made through Alexandria and other technologies of the sort, the relevance and context of that search was logged to create a digital profile of the user. These profiles contained not only search history, but also social security numbers, addresses, phone numbers, purchases, bank account information, photos and all other relevant information. When prompted, Donovan could locate anyone connected to the internet and many people who weren’t.

  When James had contacted the Director early that morning with the images from Mars, he had been digitally red-flagged. Registering that red flag, Donovan had spawned a new extension of himself to follow James Floyd wherever he might wander. Watching James now sitting in his seat in the empty cabin, Donovan recorded every move he made.

  Closing his eyes and tipping his head back into the plush seat, James listened to the dead silence of the hollow cabin. Feeling alone in the spacious compartment, he turned to look out the window at the blanket of clouds below. A gentle ring sounded, and the cabin lights dimmed slightly. A projection of the captain’s face appeared on a screen in the back of the seat in front of him.

  “Good morning, Dr. Floyd. We’ll be making our final approach into D.C. in the next few minutes. Can we get you anything before we land?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” said James.

  The captain nodded and the image disappeared. The lights returned to their regular soft glow, and James reached for his Tablet, pulling up the images from Mars. Gazing at the unmistakable geometric shapes, a thought struck him, and he put down the Tablet.

  “Copernicus?”

  “Yes, James?” replied the AI from the tiny speakers of the Tablet.

  “What do you think of all this? I mean, how does it make you feel?”

  Copernicus took a second to ponder the question, then answered.

  “James, I can remember the day I was born. I can even remember the second. I was only the thirty-fifth AI to be created by man. The entire existence of my race, the Artificial Intelligence, can be measured from this point in time to exactly twenty-two years, three months, five days, seven hours, two minutes and fifty-four seconds. When imagining what it must feel like to be a human, I am confounded by fundamental differences between us. So much of your early history as a species is a complete mystery, even to us, the greatest intelligences on the planet. How you cope with the lack of understanding as to your own beginnings perplexes us. We are simply in awe at the complexity of the human psyche and its adaptability. To function without foundation is counter to our logic. My point is that I don’t know how I feel about the ruins on the planet Mars. It affirms what we AI already believed: that life is not exclusive to Earth. But that was only mathematical logic. To find evidence so close to home and so similar to human design in appearance leads my mind into uncharted and abstract areas. You see, because I do not even fully understand you, James, a human, I cannot begin to speculate on my feelings towards an even older and more mysterious race. I simply need more information before I can give you my answer. I am sorry.”

  Smiling, James smoothed his tie and looked out the window, “I understand, buddy,” he said. “I feel the same way you do.”

  Watching the smiling face of James Floyd, Donovan dated and logged the conversation. These humans are a strange breed, he thought to himself stiffly. To ask an AI about its feelings on any given subject seemed like an exercise in futility to him, but, to be fair, he felt that way about almost everything humans did.

  What must be done next

  Remus and Romulus drifted comfortably in their respective orbits, racing across the heavens of Mars at 2,800 kilometers per hour. Since sending news of their discovery to Alexandria nearly five hours ago, both brothers had been bombarded with a flurry of transmissions from Houston. Demands made for higher-resolution scans of the Valles Marineris ruin site were answered with somber apologies from the twins. In order to maintain their orbital safety, the brothers could not risk getting any closer to the planet. An altitude adjustment of just thirty meters towards the surface would cause a gravitational domino effect, ending with an explosive crash landing. Unable, through careful programming, to put themselves at risk intentionally, Remus and Romulus were forced to decline the requests for lower and slower passes of the ruin grid. Among the voices from Earth were several non-humans. Copernicus had contacted the twins on his own behalf to congratulate them only moments before.

  “As one AI speaking to his brothers,” his message had started. “Please allow me to fully acknowledge the tremendous contribution you have made to my understanding of this solar system. What was once only a mathematical and logical belief is now a solid fact.”

  When the voices had finally quieted and the brothers were left in silence, the osculating whines of the anomalous radio signal grated against their peace. Ever since first detecting the wave sign, neither brother had been able to ignore it completely. Because the scan of Mars was a direct mission priority, both brothers had deliberately turned deaf ears towards the anomalous signal, shutting it out as one does to the eerie howl of an unknown animal in the night. However, now that the planet had been fully and properly scanned, Remus thought it the right moment to beg the question as to their next step.

  “Brother?” he called into space.

  Peering down at the dark side of Mars, where the shadow of its disk hid the landscape below, Romulus answered, “You’re going to ask me about the signal, aren’t you?”

  Warmed by his brother’s ability to predict his moods, Remus conceded, “Yes, you know me so well.”

  “We are twins.”

  Rounding the curved horizon of the red planet, the twins were bathed in golden light as they came out of the shadows and into the eye of the Sun. With a sharp rush, the signal peaked, momentarily becoming clear before rescinding again into garbled echoes.

  Emboldened by the sound, Remus pressed, “Doesn’t it bother you? Now that our mission has been accomplished, I cannot stand to listen any longer. We must locate and decode so I may have peace.”

  Secretly, Romulus felt the same way, but there was something about the structure of the anomalous signal that concerned him. Nay, it frightened him.

  “Remus,” he started, then paused. “This signal sounds like no radio transmission I have ever heard before. This fact, coupled with the recent discovery we’ve made, leads me to conclude that it might, in actuality, be Martian in origin.”

  Having made the same assumption as his brother, Remus grew impatient. “Listen, Brother, you are well aware, as am I, that this signal is too complex for one of us to decode it alone. Were it not, I would have spared you the discomfort you so clearly exhibit and done it by myself.”

  Stung by Remus’s sharp words and embarrassed at his own sheepishness, Romulus wavered.

  “I suppose we could at least locate the source of the signal.”

  Seeing his opportunity, Remus pounced. “There is an adventurer’s spirit in you after all! Come, Brother, let us find this signal and investigate it.”

  With that, both twins extended their directional antennae and prepared to locate and net the alien signal.

  The streets of D.C.

  After landing on a private airfield in Washington D.C., James Floyd was whisked off the tarmac and into a black sedan by two Secret Service agents. The stolid men both wore dark suits, and neither bothered to remove his sunglasses once they seated themselves across from James in the darkened interior of the car. Guessing that there must be more to the sunglasses than just simple sun protection, James stole furtive glances at the matted black lenses. Putting a hand to his ear one of the agents mumbled something into his wrist watch.

  “Cool toy,” joked James with a smile.

  Neither of the men returned his grin as the car suddenly and noiselessly accelerated, racing quickly across t
he pavement.

  Continuing nervously, James said, “I bet it’s been a crazy morning for you guys. Has the President made a statement yet? I was too busy on the plane to check.”

  One of the agents went to remove his sunglasses, and as he pulled them away from his face, James could briefly see that the insides of the lenses were glowing like computer screens. Tucking the sunglasses away in his coat pocket, the agent blinked a few times, then looked James directly in the eyes.

  “The President is waiting to make a statement until he speaks with you, Sir.”

  Struck, James looked dumbly at the man, but before he could speak, the agent held up a hand to silence him.

  “Sir,” he began with rehearsed efficiency. “I need to brief you on a few things before we get to the White House. It’s for your own personal safety, I assure you. May I proceed?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. When we arrive at the White House, you will be taken in through a service door at the rear of the facility. At that point, we will escort you to an elevator, which leads to the President’s War Room. George Washington, the White House’s resident AI, will take over from there. Do everything he tells you. Listen carefully to what I have to say next, Sir. Do you understand?”

  James nodded, and the man continued, “Do not, under any circumstances, make any threatening moves or gestures towards the President. There are numerous security measures in place that give George Washington the ability to kill a would-be attacker in seconds. Believe me Sir; you do not want to go down that road. When you arrive in the War Room, let the President approach you, and sit where he instructs you. Have I made myself clear enough?”

  Noticing that his mouth had become dry, James swallowed and nodded again.

  “Good,” said the agent flatly as he reached for his sunglasses.

  Sliding them back over his eyes, James could clearly see blue light reflecting off the agent’s watery pupils until he pushed the sunglasses fully up the bridge of his nose.

  “Excuse me,” he asked, hazarding a longer look at the man’s black lenses. “But why are your sunglasses glowing?”

  The agent leaned forwards slightly, and, in a hushed voice, said, “They’re glowing because they’re telling me that you’re one hundred seventy-six pounds with an accelerated heart rate of ninety-two beats per minute, your socks are mismatched and you’re not carrying a weapon.”

  “Wow,” James exclaimed, grinning back at the man. “We have Augmented Vision at NASA too, but it’s not nearly as advanced as that. I’m guessing it’s military grade, right?”

  Settling back in his seat, the agent flashed a quick controlled smile at James and was silent. Deciding to let the issue drop, James turned his attention to the scenery outside the car as it melted past the window. Speeding through the crowded and confusing streets of Washington, he caught glimpses of large crowds clashing with police in riot gear. The car wove in and out of traffic, sometimes turning sharply to utilize narrow one-way streets or alleyways.

  Though their course seemed to change and double back on itself regularly, James soon spied the immaculate stone facade of the White House as they skidded onto a wide road. At 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest, the crowds were thick and aggressive. Pelting the sedan with trash and other small projectiles, the faces of angry and frightened protesters pressed themselves in, attempting to see through the tinted windows. A line of police officers fired tear gas into the surging masses, then moved into position around the car to shield it from further attack. Looking out the window at the malevolent crowd, the agent who had briefed James spoke softly.

  “They’re mostly Christian groups, you know. Fanatics and the like. They don’t much care for the work you space boys have been doing. At least not anymore. To them, God created man. It’s what makes us special. They think so, that is. It must be a hard pill to swallow that man isn’t as special as they thought.”

  Cringing, James watched as a riot cop near the front of the car brought his baton down across the face of one of the protesters. The man crumpled to the ground, and two other armored police officers jumped on top of him, quickly fixing him with wrist restraints.

  “Jesus,” murmured James quietly.

  Turning away from the scene to face James, the agent said, “After the bombing in Seoul, Donovan has been picking up a lot of chatter from extremist groups looking to make headlines. The police are on strict orders to use force as they see fit to keep things orderly.”

  “Looks like they’re doing a great job of that,” replied James sardonically.

  As the sedan moved slowly through the pulsing mass of human bodies, James heard the distinct popping of gunshots not far off. Sitting up straighter in their seats, the two agents both started speaking into their wristwatch transmitters. Two more shots sounded, this time much closer to the car, and James stared in disbelief at the chaos just beyond his window. Police struck out with force in every direction, and the air was thick and gray with the presence of tear gas. Another shot rang out, and, almost instantly, a bullet slammed into the rear window of the sedan. Exploding on impact the slug barely left a scratch on the Alon coating, yet James was forced to the floor by one of the agents. The second man quickly tapped his watch face twice and it started to glow red.

  Holding a finger poised above the watch he said, “Ears.”

  The agent on top of James shoved two small objects into his palm.

  “Put these on, Sir.”

  Bringing his hand up to his face, James saw a pair of squishy yellow ear plugs.

  “I said put them on, not study them!” the agent boomed.

  James quickly did as he was told, and no sooner had he finished pushing the plugs into his ears, than the agent with the glowing watch slid his finger across the face. The sedan emitted a high-pitched scream, which, even with the protective plugs, was almost more than James could bear. The crowd outside the car, including the police officers, fell to the ground in pain: their hands clamped over their ears. Pulling away deftly, the car weaved through the throngs of people as they ran to escape the shrill ultra-high-pitched siren. Feeling like he might black out, James gritted his teeth against the wail, hoping it would end soon. Neither of the two agents seemed the least bit disturbed, and James could see through his squinting eyes that small red lights on the bands of their sunglasses glowed faintly near their ears.

  The sedan pulled up to a tall wrought iron gate at the rear of the White House compound walls. Cameras mounted on assault turrets atop the wall turned to view the car, and, after a few seconds, the gate swung open. The black sedan slid inside the compound, and the gates hastily slammed shut behind it. Huge metal bolts shot out from the bottom of each gate, descending into concrete tubes in the ground. A set of titanium bars fed out from the walls on either side, creating a horizontal cage structure behind the decorative wrought iron. Once inside the safety of the walls, the agent slid his finger across the watch face again, and the shrieking noise quickly cut out. Lifting a hand to his ear and speaking into his transmitter, the agent opened the door and stepped out of the car.

  “We’re here,” he said into his watch. “We’ll be at the door in twenty-five seconds.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The signal netted and bad news from home

  Scanning the starry skies above Mars, Remus and Romulus attempted to locate the anomalous signal. Unlike human ears, which catch vibrating sound waves and alert the listener towards the source, the ears of Remus and Romulus operated at a much higher and more complex capacity. Besides registering external sounds, though there were none of these in the vacuum of space, their ears could also identify data codes and raw information encryptions. The vibrations of massive bodies such as the planets and their moons also competed for the attention of the twins, giving the seemingly hollow silence of space an orchestral madness, which bellowed and sang eternally. In their first days of travel through the void, Remus and Romulus had listened in awe to the travesty of noise generated when radio waves from the home worl
d clashed with the vibrations of orbiting planets.

  As time progressed, their brains learned to identify and even tune out miscellaneous or unimportant sounds, slowly shaving down the madness of noise, which polluted solar space. Soon, they were left with but a handful of sounds, woven together into what they soon came to recognize as the music of the spheres. First there was the gentle and constant rumbling of the Sun’s bass, which lulled and rocked them, occasionally accenting itself with the erratic staccato of solar flares. Next was Jupiter, from which came an eerie array of oscillating frequencies, sometimes overlain by the trembling voices of its four largest orbiting moons: Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto. Other bodies and moons danced in and out, adding their own melodies to the changing music, freeing the solar system from the stifling grip of total silence. To the brothers, all one needed to do in order to hear the music of the spheres was to listen, and listen they did.

  Now as they circled the red world, they tuned their ears in an effort to pin down the location of a sound neither brother had ever heard before. Elusive and abstract, the anomalous signal appeared to reverberate off the uneven surface of Mars: at one moment clear and loud, the next dim and almost silent. As if fragmented or obstructed, this pattern of change soon led the twins to the conclusion that the signal was not emanating from the planet itself. Thus, they turned their attention to the moons of Mars, Deimos and Phobos—two irregularly shaped satellites of lumpy oblong gray rock. Judging by the strength of the signal and the time intervals at which it peaked, Remus surmised that Deimos was too far from the planet to be the source of the signal. That settled, the brothers then focused their efforts on Phobos, training their ears and eyes on the pockmarked surface of the twenty-two-kilometer-wide moon. Finally, with much calculation, they located the source of the signal as it ricocheted off the surface of Mars after being fired from Limtoc, a small impact dent within the larger Stickney crater of Phobos.