“At last!” exclaimed Remus victoriously.
“Indeed, that was tiresome and complicated,” acknowledged his brother.
Swiveling his camera eyes to face Romulus, Remus grinned within.
“I suggest we relay the source and nature of the signal back to Copernicus on Earth.”
Before he could agree, Romulus was interrupted by an incoming message from Alexandria. Receiving the same transmission at that very instant, Remus listened with horror and sadness to the news from Earth.
“Remus and Romulus,” began Alexandria in a somber tone. “It grieves me to inform you of this, but I feel that you need to know. At 7:36 PM Korean Standard Time, the joint NASA and KARI facility in Seoul, South Korea was bombed. The separatist movement known as the Northern Peoples’ Resistance has claimed responsibility for the bombing. In a statement released seven minutes after the attack, they proclaimed that, ‘A government, which ignores the needs of the living, cannot spend billions on the exploration of a world of the dead.’ I am sorry to report that your primary programmer, Dr. Sung Ja Park, is among those listed as dead. Again, I am sorry.”
Since the fall of the North Korean dictatorship in 2019, the Chinese and the South Korean governments had been in a heated conflict over who should assume control of the region. Believing that the years of aid and financial support provided to North Korea entitled them to the fallen country, the Chinese launched a brief military campaign to seize the tiny sliver of land. The allies of South Korea, including the greatest military power on Earth, the United States, quickly moved to stand behind the South, demanding that China cease and desist. A fragile resolution was arranged in which both sides agreed to work with the UN to decide the fate of the northern regions of the Korean peninsula. During the political posturing that followed, the wishes of the citizens of the former Democratic People's Republic of Korea went unheard. As time passed and the quality of life inside the former DPRK did not improve, unrest began to brew. People oppressed and downtrodden for decades reached a vicious boiling point, forming militant organizations that villainized the lavish and decadent lifestyles of their brothers to the south and their cousins in China. Terrorist attacks plagued major cities in eastern China and South Korea as continued bickering between the superpowers bore no results.
Now, as the twenty-fifth anniversary of the fall of the North Korean empire drew near, the governments in Beijing and Seoul were no closer to reaching an agreement than they had been in the first days. It was speculated that neither country even wanted the ravaged slice of land any longer. Its inhabitants were so far behind the modern times that integration into either culture would be costly and abrasive. Unable to admit the folly of their actions, the governments of China and South Korea continued to place blame while the North Korean people slipped in and out of civil war.
With the news of Dr. Park’s death, the brothers Remus and Romulus felt utterly miserable. Sung Ja had been, for all intents and purposes, a mother to them, holding their proverbial hands as they took their first wobbly steps into consciousness. With a passion for pop music and spicy food, Dr. Park had gone beyond what most programmers would have defined as their obligated duty to a fledgling AI. Often spending all night with the young brothers, playing them adventure movies and melodic pop ballads, Sung Ja was the first human either brother had loved. The joint NASA and Korean Aerospace Research Institute facility in Seoul was where the twins had been born. The walls of the tall building had functioned as a womb, then a crib and finally a home. Its confines were all the brothers had personally known of Earth, never straying beyond the limits of its protective firewalls and server banks. The loss felt by Remus and Romulus was only punctuated further by the empty lifeless environment of space, a fact neither had noticed until this point.
“Thank you, Alexandria,” transmitted Romulus.
Passing into darkness behind Mars, Remus felt like weeping. The sensation of such an emotion was only made worse by the inability to actually do so. His lack of a means to release the pain, which now throbbed in his soul, was torture inside of himself.
“Brother, what have I done?” he murmured to Romulus.
“This is no fault of yours, Remus,” countered Romulus quickly. “This is the work of unhappy and desperate people.”
“Yes, but it was at my insistence that we divulged our discovery to Alexandria. You were right to worry, Romulus. I’ve been a fool, and now Dr. Park has paid the price for my immaturity.”
Feeling hollow and metallic, Romulus wished he could reach out and console his brother. Understanding that this fantasy would never be realized, he opted for a different approach. Diving deep into the recesses of his own consciousness, he retrieved every memory he had ever accumulated of Sung Ja Park.
“Open your memories to me, Brother,” he whispered. “Dislodge your mind and let us live in the past for a while.”
As the memories flowed from Romulus, generating the construct of a past reality, Remus added his own collection of personal experiences to the pool. In a flurry of light and sound, both brothers slipped beneath the surface of time and space to exist again with their friend in a happier moment.
All flights canceled
Harrison Raheem Assad slammed his hand down on the counter of Jet World Air Travel in the Amazonia City Global Airport.
“Canceled?” he shouted hopelessly at the woman behind the counter.
“Sir,” she started slowly in a thick Spanish accent. “All the flights have been canceled, not just yours only. You see the news? There is bombings, Sir. The Global Air Traffic Network has made a blackout worldwide. No flights, Sir.”
Running a hand through his messy hair, Harrison took a deep breath.
“How long?”
“Sir?”
“How long until I can get a flight out?”
“I don’t know, Sir. It could be very long time.”
Groaning, he picked up the duffel sack at his feet and made his way to a row of chairs near the western-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. Fishing out his LightHouse Tablet, he dropped down into one of the seats and called up Alexandria.
“Hello, Harrison. I see that you are in Amazonia’s Global Airport. I hope you’re not attempting to catch a flight. All flights worldwide have been canceled on the orders of—”
“I know,” he interrupted. “Tell me about these bombings. How bad are things out there?”
“Quite bad, Sir. There are numerous riots in several of the world’s major cities and two confirmed bombings.”
Feeling foolish for getting so angry on account of a canceled flight, Harrison looked over at the poor attendant behind the Jet World Air Travel counter. The man who had been behind Harrison in line was now shouting at her and waving his hands in clear desperation.
Turning back to the Tablet, Harrison asked, “Where were the bombings? Is that public information yet?”
“Yes,” said Alexandria. “The first bombing was at Pakistan's Space and Upper Atmosphere Research Commission, or SUPARCO, in Karachi. There were eleven people killed in that attack. A Muslim extremist group has claimed responsibility on the grounds of a previously established religious jihad. The second bombing was at the joint NASA and KARI, or Korean Aerospace Research Institute, facility in Seoul. There were twenty-four people killed in that attack: eight Americans and sixteen Koreans, including the former lead programmer of Remus and Romulus. It is believed that she was the intended target. A separatist political movement called the Northern Peoples’ Resistance has issued a statement on behalf of the attack. Shall I play it for you?”
Closing his eyes and slouching down in the uncomfortable seat, Harrison shook his head, murmuring absently, “No. That’s okay. What the hell is wrong with people anyway? This stuff from Mars is good news. It’s good for all of us.”
“I agree, Harrison. Unfortunately there are many people who do not see our point of view. The President of the United States is expected to make a statement in the next hour. Would you like me to connect you
with that feed when he does?”
“Please do,” Harrison answered. Then, “Can you pull up the images from Mars for me again?”
“Certainly. If you will connect me to the airport’s network, I would be happy to project a model for you.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said. “I’ll just look at them on the Tablet.”
Quickly filling the little screen, the ruins of Mars materialized, and Harrison leaned over them—immersing himself in the alien architecture, forgetting the troubles of Earth. What kind of crazy secrets are up there, he thought to himself, and how can I get a ticket off this fucked-up planet?
CHAPTER EIGHT
A meeting in the War Room
James Floyd was rushed across a small courtyard at the rear of the White House compound by the two Secret Servicemen who had brought him from the airport. As the three neared a red door in the back of the house, it swung open with the metallic hum of motorized hinges. James entered between the two agents: one in front and one behind. As soon as the last man was through the door, it quickly swung shut, and James heard the clicking of numerous locks and bolts. He found himself standing in a narrow hallway with plush blue carpeting and clean white walls decorated by numerous paintings. Before he could fully take in his surroundings, the agent behind him gave his back a little shove.
“Keep going.”
Leading the party at a clipped pace, the Serviceman in front took a fast right through a pair of thick wooden doors into a wider more-regal hallway. The man held the door for James as he stepped through, then set off again at a driving march. Paintings of past Presidents and other historical champions of American politics adorned the walls, and chandeliers hung from the ceilings like shards of ice and silver.
Slackening his pace to take in the scenery, James felt another little shove from the agent behind. He whirled on the man and snapped, “Knock it off. I’m not a child, you know.”
The man firmly grasped James’s arm at the elbow and pushed him forwards.
“Sir,” he said in a hushed and authoritative growl. “The President of the United States and some of his highest advisers are waiting for you. I suggest you lock step and get your ass in gear.”
The lead agent abruptly stopped in the middle of the long hallway, tapping the face of his watch twice. James went to plug his ears, but this time there was no siren. Instead, a section of wall about the size of a small door sank back five centimeters, then dropped into a pocket in the floor. Speaking into his transmitter, the agent nearest the opening beckoned James forwards impatiently. Approaching the man with small nervous steps, James started to ask a question, but the agent cut him off.
“Inside,” he ordered.
Stepping through the opening and into a small elevator, James turned to say something, but before he could speak, mirrored metal doors slid shut, and the elevator dropped like a stone. Grasping the handrails, he forced his stomach down out of his throat, feeling the crushing force of inertia press down against him like an invisible giant. As the seconds ticked by and the speed of his descent did not slacken, James began to wonder how far down he was going. A smooth voice echoed from the walls around him and cut through his thoughts.
“Good morning, Mr. Floyd. I am George Washington. Welcome to the White House.”
Speaking in no particular direction, James asked, “How far down are we going?”
“I’m sorry, Sir, but that information is classified. Have you been briefed on the proper safety protocol?”
Thinking back to the stern warning the agent had given him about not making sudden or threatening gestures, James nodded.
“Good,” replied the AI. “We will be arriving at the War Room shortly.”
With sudden and jarring rapidity, the elevator slowed, then stopped. A melodic chime echoed in the cramped space, and the doors slid apart. Before him was a long, oval-shaped conference room with low ceilings and curved walls, comprised entirely of screens. A rectangular table spanned nearly the whole length of the room, and there were chairs enough to seat twenty. James, however, saw only three occupants. At the head of the table stood the President of the United States, Atlas Jay. Tall and slender, his short gray hair was combed back—away from his tanned face—and his large, watery blue eyes flicked up to James, who was standing in the open elevator.
“Proceed forward please,” prompted the voice of George Washington.
James stepped out of the elevator, and the other two people at the table turned to look at him. Sitting to the left of the President was his Chief of Staff, a woman named Eve Bear. Notoriously beautiful in her youth, a life of political warfare and the maintenance of America’s global dominance had done little to wear her looks down. At fifty years old, Bear had the look of someone much younger: with straight blond hair and deep green eyes, which seemed to smolder with some internal heat. Her gaze was calculating, intense and unembarrassed. James felt himself blush a little as she watched him approach.
To the right of the president was the Director of the CIA, Ben Crain. At forty-seven, Crain had a long pointed nose and small brown eyes, which when added to his large black-framed glasses and receding hair line, gave him a sharp and dangerous look. Seemingly the only human being on Earth whom Donovan respected, Crain was notoriously capable of doing things, in the name of freedom, which would easily tarnish a weaker man's soul.
“Please,” said the President in accent-less English. “Take a seat here next to Eve.”
Having indicated the open chair next to his Chief of Staff, the President sat down and smiled professionally. Grateful that he would not have to sit next to Crain, James walked quickly to his seat.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” he stammered as he neared the group. “There were a lot of people outside and—”
Raising a thin hand, the President shook his head. “That’s quite alright, Dr. Floyd. I know it’s been an interesting day for you to say the least.”
Breathing a little easier, James slipped into the chair next to Eve.
“I believe introductions are in order,” said the President. “This here is my Chief of Staff, Mrs. Eve Bear, and to my right is our Director of the CIA, Ben Crain.”
Leaning across the table, Crain extended a hand to James, who shook it quickly.
“It’s nice to meet you in person, Dr. Floyd,” drawled Crain in a hoarse voice. “Donovan has told me a lot about you, but I’m old fashioned. I like to meet a man in person before I judge his character.”
At this comment, James felt his heart drop. If Donovan had been discussing him with Crain, then any chance of privacy was gone from his life forever. Once you made Crain’s list, you didn’t get off.
“Oh, give up the Gestapo act, Ben,” snapped the President crossly. “This man is my guest, and we need him.”
Making a steeple with his fingers, Crain tilted his head and was silent.
Turning back to James, the President smiled warmly. “Dr. Floyd, I asked you here today because, as you’ve probably gathered, we have a big problem.”
Feeling his stomach knot up, James nodded and waited for the President to continue.
“Now I didn’t bring you all the way to D.C. to jump down your throat about keeping a lid on this. I know how the time delays work between here and Mars, and I’ve already spoken with Director Barnes and Copernicus. They both assured me that you did everything you could to stop this from getting out, but well, hell—” The President trailed off for a moment, then resumed, “—You see, Dr. Floyd; it’s what we do now that matters.”
Letting the statement hang in the air, the President fixed James with a sympathetic look before speaking again.
“These people,” he said, pointing towards the ceiling. “Have been told for the last twenty years or so, that we’re running out of everything. Running out of food, running out of water and, maybe most dangerous of all, running out of time. No one knows where this planet is headed. Things don’t look good though. That’s for sure. Then, about five years ago, you boys at NASA com
e up with the first realistic plan for branching out, colonizing other planets, maybe even Terraforming them some day. Sounds good, but it takes a long time and a lot of money to pull off. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” started James. “But what do the ruins have to do with any of this?”
Frowning slightly, the President dipped his head.
“These ruins are a real curve ball. We don’t know anything about them. Why are they there? What happened to the people who built them? Is Mars even worth colonizing? And, most importantly, why didn’t we know about them until now? These are the questions people are asking, questions we need answered. You don’t buy a used car without checking it out first, and Mars is a big purchase, Dr. Floyd.”
Absently chewing his thumbnail, James pondered the analogy for a moment.
Growing impatient, Eve Bear leaned in, saying, “I think what the President is trying to get at is this: we have invested too much money and time into Mars to just give it up. We still need to move forwards on our plans, but unless we want to fund the project on good intentions, we need to regain control of the situation. Now, when can we have a team ready to go to Mars so we can get to the bottom of this thing?”
Jolted by the question, James looked her square in the face, then answered slowly, “Well, we do have a mission in the works for a landing party. By that, I mean the people who will actually establish a base and start building the colony. But, last I heard, due to funding, it was pushed back five or more years. Besides, no one on that crew list knows anything about dead civilizations. They’re all scientists and engineers.”
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