After the Martian Apocalypse

by Mac Tonnies

  In fact, proving artificiality has never been the intention of serious anomalists. Certainly, Cydonia researchers wanted proof (in whatever form) that suspicions of artificiality were justified. But the core of established scientists who have argued for serious study of Cydonia, including Mark Carlotto and John Brandenburg, have never voiced any certainty that high-resolution imagery would conclusively solve the enigma. At best, new and better pictures would simply reframe the controversy.

  Barring the discovery of giant hieroglyphs etched onto the desert, remote sensing remains a means to an end, capable of vindicating or deflating some predictions but ultimately leaving the larger issue of possible artificiality unanswered. The question is: What constitutes evidence sufficient to acknowledge an authentic enigma on the Martian surface? And given that such evidence may exist, will it be enough to force honest investigation?

  Some independent researchers, such as Hoagland and Van Flandern, contend that the evidence has been found. Others, like McDaniel and Carlotto, remain optimistic but nonetheless cautiously skeptical, stressing the need for better data. Image processor Lan Fleming, who best conforms to the “cautiously skeptical” category of Mars anomaly watchers, has argued that NASA needs a mystery such as Cydonia to justify what has become an expensive and underwhelming exercise in applied bureaucracy.

  In a certain sense, the reality of Cydonia is immaterial; we should commit to manned Mars exploration out of the exploratory spirit that was erroneously attributed to the Apollo moon landings. But Cydonia’s tabloidesque political history, along with all of its inevitable New Age trappings, has forced it into intellectual submission. Our scientific hierarchy seems unable to deal with it in any productive sense. The fact that JPL’s first two renderings of the Face in 1998—the grainy contrast-enhanced image released to the media and the subsequent Picasso-like orthorectification—were deliberately sloppy comes as no real surprise; why treat a joke seriously?

  The problem posed by Cydonia is conceivably less a scientific issue than a flaw in the way we digest unfamiliar information. As a culture, we are conditioned to accept anything space-related with a noncommittal shrug. In a world of shortsighted corporate conspiracies, numbing mass entertainment, and an ever-changing landscape of arcane yet pressing political concerns (most of which are inherently transient if not illusory), it is easy to relegate the cosmos to the subconscious. Reality can be draining enough without exotic enigmas on other planets jamming our input relays.

  The result is a brittle semblance of sanity, a comfortable progression of familiar rituals. Little or no concern is expressed for our own planet: we continue using crude, ecologically debilitating petroleum as our primary energy source and routinely poison our waters with industrial cocktails. Vast sums are spent on expensive—and often perfectly useless—weaponry. We tend to allow the issues that define our personal and social landscapes to be dictated by nameless talking heads.

  Consequently our mainstream media depict the Face as a laughable space oddity. But are we actually laughing in self-defense?

  Building for Eternity

  Engineers have considered how best to mark nuclear waste sites for future generations. Invariably, the result is a sort of monolith, almost as if contemporary thinkers are subconsciously taking their cue from the Pyramids in Egypt (which were, after all, built for eternity). The problem is primarily linguistic, as we can’t be certain what language a future civilization might use. It may have gross similarities to current languages, but we can’t be sure that it will retain specific details. The answer is to communicate the “danger” message through use of symbols that, presumably, anyone could understand.

  SETI theorists maintain that mathematics is the only possible universal language. Since we assume that the laws of physics operate identically regardless of where one is in the cosmos, numbers can be used to convey meaning across broad cultural gulfs. So far, our searches for ET signals have hinged on the detection of mathematically derived messages.

  For example, many SETI scientists point out that a civilization that broadcasted prime numbers (numbers divisible only by themselves and one) would be quick to get our attention, as there is no natural phenomenon that could duplicate such a sequence. Receiving a string of primes alone would convey a simple, if maddeningly anonymous, message: we exist.

  It’s likely that the Mound configuration discovered by Hoagland, Crater, and McDaniel represents a similar attempt at mathematical communication, although in this case it seems a more sophisticated message is being communicated, possibly related to esoteric physics. The number 19.5 is a recurring motif; interestingly, this is a tetrahedral constant, produced when a sphere circumscribes a tetrahedron. Could the Mounds be conveying information about Platonic solids? If so, why?

  Mathematics are also useful in designating harmful substances. Numerical sequences could be designed to represent the half-life of various isotopes as certainly as they could be used to transmit the primer of an extraterrestrial super-physics. Additionally, visual metaphors (e.g., human skulls, depictions of explosions) would likely warn away anyone curious enough to pry open future toxic waste enclosures.

  Of course, there’s a risk of irony. Futuristic treasure seekers, like an over-eager Indiana Jones navigating a booby-trapped tomb, might regard forbidding imagery as a morbid invitation. For their sake, we can only hope they retain enough memory of the twenty-first century to understand that our “gifts” merely contain death—and none of the booty associated with human burial sites.

  It’s conceivable that the Mounds in Cydonia comprise a warning, not an invitation. The Martians may owe their extinction to a misguided application of an unknown physics, and Cydonia may be their attempt to preserve their cultural identity—as well as the circumstances that led to their downfall. In either case, close examination of possible ruins on Mars should prove most edifying.

  The Medium Is the Message

  When building for the benefit of the future, the medium itself must be durable enough to withstand centuries or millennia. Evidence of water erosion on the Face in Cydonia indicates that the Mounds (assuming they were built approximately at the same time as the Face) must be hundreds of thousands of years old—perhaps older. If they are artificial, they may be made out of rock, although it’s probable they were constructed out of something tougher. The sunken girders near Mound P suggest an underlying structural matrix as opposed to hewn rock, as does the small triangle in the City Square.

  Recall, too, the unique cellular array around the Face’s western eye. Although this may have served an aesthetic purpose, it could also simply be a portion of a wire-frame support exposed by erosion. Richard Hoagland is convinced that the Face must be more than mere rock in order to account for its non-fractal signature, arguing that a rock carving—even a mile-long rock carving—would recede into the landscape unless augmented by some sort of high-tech substrate.

  The Face may be the planetary equivalent of a hood ornament, or an inconspicuous signature in the corner of a stupefying mural. If it is real, then it seems doubtless that there is more in store for us. Like earth-bound archaeological sites, Cydonia may be a facade; its surface may be riddled with buried structure. We can only hope the first manned mission to the region brings along a shovel.

  The Face seen from the west as it stares skyward. Brow, eye, nostril, and mouth features are clearly visible even in synthetic perspective. Image courtesy Chris Joseph.

  Underground Infrastructure

  If we could only go there and burrow into the Face’s side with vacuum-proof drills and ultrasonic imaging gear, stroll the flanks of the D&M, and set up camp in the rock-strewn squalor of the City Square.

  Why do we not see irrefutable evidence of subsurface construction elsewhere in Cydonia? If the City complex and Face are vestiges of some sort of enormous urban complex, shouldn’t infrared analysis show large-scale evidence of subterranean infrastructure? While this argument is an example of terrestrial chauvinism at its best, it’s not withou
t at least some credence.

  If Cydonia is artificial, its constituent structures (e.g., the Face, Fort, City Pyramid) were probably hewn from existing knobby mesas. Circumstantial evidence for the “Made-from Rock Hypothesis” takes a variety of forms, including the excavated region east of the Cliff and a peculiar, carved-out mesa nicknamed the “Hollow.”

  At first glance, the Hollow appears to be a flat-topped mesa not unlike others in the Cydonia region. But the Hollow’s top—assuming it once had one—is absent, revealing a triangular interior space with level floor and shallow walls. The Hollow also features angular cracks around its base, recalling the alleged decoration on the Face’s framing mesa.

  If the Hollow is an archaeological ruin, then its open-air stadium appearance conflicts with the conventional wisdom—that the Cydonia structures were built as protective enclosures intended to withstand a decaying planetary climate. It’s possible the Hollow is the foundation for a once-enclosed structure that has since eroded away. Infrared readings show that the Hollow’s interior space is actually colder than the ambient temperature. Perhaps the capsized structure runs deeper than imagined, forming a reservoir of chilled air.

  If the arcology model originally postulated by Hoagland is correct, then it’s quite likely that the various candidate arcologies, such as the Fort and City Pyramid, were designed to function in isolation, much as a space station would have to operate if deprived of supplies for an extended period. Efforts such as the experimental Biosphere II complex constructed in the American Southwest exemplify the resourcefulness a culture would need if forced to migrate to elaborate environmental fallout shelters. If Martian biology is comparable to Earth’s, then oxygen-producing facilities of some kind, whether chlorophyll-derived greenhouses or chemical factories capable of separating oxygen from Martian soil, would have been necessary.

  Cydonia may be a megascale version of the primitive Mars habitat designs in the works on Earth. Rocket pioneer Robert Zubrin is the foremost advocate of living off the land if and when humans occupy Mars. Soil and permafrost provide abundant water, oxygen, and hydrogen—enough to produce water and air as well as propellant. The Martians could have adapted such technology to serve the needs for a population of millions.

  Incidentally, this interpretation argues against the Martians being an extrasolar species; if they came from another star, it’s doubtful they relied on such crude techniques to power their vehicle across the night between stars. An interstellar mission based on chemical rocket propulsion would take centuries or longer—a monument to inefficiency. Contemporary physicists have introduced a number of novel star-ship designs into the mainstream (space-time warps notwithstanding): craft wafted through space at near light speed by orbital lasers; hydrogen-fueled ramjets with fusion reactor cores; light-hugging ships propelled by sequenced nuclear detonations. It seems anachronistic for a society capable of interstellar travel to rely on clumsy Biosphere II-era atmosphere processing.

  But the ultimate question is far more disquieting. If Cydonia represents an advanced, spacefaring culture, why weren’t the Martians able to save their world from devastation? (Of course, it’s entirely possible that the features in Cydonia were temporary habitats built by a visiting race, in which case the visitors may have had little stake in saving Mars from destruction. They could have merely been passing through to elsewhere in the galaxy.) Despite numbing political apathy on Earth, we have begun to draft plans to deal with incoming space debris; it’s difficult to accept that a species intimately familiar with the hazards of space would allow a colonized planet to fall victim to a preventable collision.

  This is assuming, of course, that Mars’s current status as a frozen, near-airless world is due to a collision. Mars’s death could have been of the slow variety that is generally embraced by mainstream astronomers. Neither explanation is mutually exclusive. A major collision could have functioned as a trigger, blasting air and water into space and forcing any remaining inhabitants to seek shelter over a period of many hundreds of thousands of years or more. There well may be an intrinsically cultural reason behind the bizarre morphology in Cydonia. Certainly the Face’s humanoid resemblance cannot be dismissed.

  Cydonia demands to be viewed in a planetary context if sense is to be made of it. Once that crucial step is made, the Face and its attendant enigmas fall into surreal perspective.

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  The Many Faces

  of Extraterrestrial Intelligence

  The more we explore Mars, the more earth-like our model of the planet becomes. Billions of years ago, Mars and Earth were probably virtual twins, and even mainstream aerologists agree that the prospects for primitive life at some point are good.

  As NASA’s harvest of Martian chemical and geological data continues, the implications of ancient Martian life take on special urgency. Are there oases of life on Mars? Could life be more varied and tenacious than expected (e.g., Arthur C. Clarke’s “banyan trees”)? And what, if any, impact has Mars’s ecology had on Earth?

  Unfortunately, questions outweigh answers. Well-known astronomer Fred Hoyle promoted the concept of panspermia, in which hibernating microscopic life is shuttled through space inside comets and planetary debris. In Diseases from Space, Hoyle argued that terrestrial life originated not on Earth but inside comets. Panspermia has become increasingly accepted among exobiologists, who note that Earth and Mars actually exchange tons of matter annually. If life forms are capable of hitching rides between planets, then the classic debate concerning the presumed uniqueness of DNA becomes meaningless. Life on Earth could have Martian ancestry, or Martian life could have terrestrial ancestry. Or, if Hoyle’s cometary origins theory is correct, Mars and Earth could host life foreign to both planets. Ultimately, we may all be unwitting immigrants from the Oort Cloud.

  Theoretically, panspermia could accelerate evolution on a recipient planet by importing ready-made DNA sequences or even simple organisms. The possibility of bio-friendly planets being genetically jump-started threatens the prevailing exobiological wisdom that Mars wasn’t alive long enough to produce advanced/intelligent life.

  If the Face is artificial, how do we reconcile its humanoid likeness with its bizarre location? Two hypotheses address this problem by postulating either an unknown Earth civilization that voyaged to Mars in antiquity, or extrasolar aliens who used terrestrial protohumans as their inspiration.

  Either case could be close to the truth. But panspermia may discard the need for both ancient astronauts and aliens. If Earth and Mars shared their genetic heritage, it’s not impossible that a human-like species could have evolved on Mars. But “human-like” is a broad description, and even the most literal adherents to the “parallel evolution” school doubt that dissimilar planetary environments could produce identical species. The Klingons and Romulans of Star Trek are good examples of such evolutionary impossibilities, as is the alleged alien in the eponymous “autopsy” footage aired in 1995.

  However, there’s no reason why separately evolved species based on the same genetic template should diverge too radically. Although perhaps anthropomorphically biased, author Isaac Asimov argued that the basic human frame—two legs and arms with a head—is a practical shape with lots of room for deviation.

  Of peripheral interest is remote viewer Joe McMoneagle’s descriptions of indigenous Martians. Remote viewing is the controversial “science” of tapping latent psychic ability in the hope of observing distant events. The United States military has conducted experiments with remote viewing in the hopes of developing a comprehensive spy network. McMoneagle, perhaps the best of the military’s former “psychic spies,” subsequently attempted to remote-view Mars and possible ancient inhabitants. Interestingly, he described tall beings with broad chests (presumably denoting expanded lung capacity). These details match what might be expected for beings adapted to Mars’s relatively low gravity and reduced air pressure. While such creatures would be hard-pressed to survive on Mars now, beings such as McMoneagle’s h
umanoids could have flourished before Mars lost the bulk of its atmosphere. Science fiction writer Frederik Pohl addresses similar issues in his novel Man Plus, in which an astronaut is surgically altered to withstand Mars’s uncompromising conditions sans spacesuit.

  The humanoid Face on Mars has convinced a majority of speculators that—if artificial—it must have something to do with us. This possibility cannot be dismissed. But there is the equally unsettling possibility that the Face was constructed by beings who just happened to look something like us, never dreaming that their megalithic art would ultimately become a controversy among beings from a neighboring planet.

  The Face, debatably a split image comparable to iconography on Earth, might represent an indigenous Martian leader or god. If so, the anthropological insights provided by an expedition to Cydonia would likely tell us just as much about ourselves as the presumed Martians. There just might be a crucial lesson to be learned if it turns out the Face is a relic of an extinct Martian civilization. One doesn’t have to browse too many esoteric Mars websites to know how this particular scenario plays out: threatened by decaying conditions on their native planet, the Martians evacuate to a prehistoric Earth to start anew.

  Perhaps the single most startling aspect of this clichèd notion is that it’s entirely possible.

  A Dialogue of Genes and Planets

  Evolution is fact, not theory. However, the particulars of evolution are cause for scientific argument. The fossil record shows that life on Earth has progressed fitfully, as if in brief quantum jumps. Given the possibility of an extraterrestrial influence, it’s naive to write off genetic intervention of some form.