The Drellic Saga: Books One, Two and Three

by Mike Marlinski

Prologue

  From the moment modern man had made the decision to one day colonize Mars, the eager group of wide eyed dreamers, determined to be the first of many colonists, were condemning themselves to a life not worth living.

  The most commonly discussed reason for setting foot on Mars, was the idea that the planet could be terra formed over the course of a century, and as modern humanity began to push its way into the 21st century, growing concerns about eventual over population and the scarcity of natural resources on Earth, were becoming more and more apparent.

  Due to the ongoing fiscal and political issues that plagued the world’s most powerful nations, a manned mission to Mars seemed to be the furthest thing from anyone’s mind. Even in the early 2030’s, as the human race was taking its first steps towards rebuilding itself, after the devastating reign of Drellic, the general population and most of the surviving men and women in power, were convinced that no man had ever before set foot on Martian soil.

  Unbeknownst to them all, The Darkside Group had been sending secret manned missions to Mars, since the 1990’s. 7 long, white and black cylindrical rockets, reminiscent of the Apollo era in the 1960’s and 70’s, were constructed on the surface of the moon in the year 1994.

  Each rocket was capable of transporting 253 people to Mars in less than 6 months. These crude but effective machines called “Mars Arcs” or “Marcs” for short, were very simple in design and functioned as one way tickets to Aeolis Mons, also known as Mount Sharp.

  Aeolis Mons was chosen as an ideal place to construct the first of many atmospheric generators on the surface of Mars. The colonists being dispatched to the Red Planet, were assigned the long and grueling task of converting the mountain into a greenhouse gas factory. The purpose of which, was to thicken the Martian atmosphere and raise the temperature of the planet.

  The Mars Arcs contained enough storage space for 253 cryotubes for human passengers, food and supplies for those on board, and the equipment needed to complete each Mars Arc’s phase of the Mars Mission.

  One Arc was launched every year, once all 7 of them had been built and successfully tested. The 12 months in between each launch were spent recruiting new colonists. Much to the delight of the heads of Darkside, the majority of the people they interviewed for the various colony positions, were overjoyed at the thought of indefinitely leaving their world behind, to break ground on a new one. From 1994-2001, Darkside had successfully sent 1,771 colonists to Aeolis Mons.

  In 2010, Darkside had developed a new propulsion system for the Marcs, capable of getting them to the Red Planet in three months, instead of six. Once that breakthrough had been made, ten more Marcs were built on the lunar surface. Then, tn what seemed like a frantic act of desperation, the Darkside leaders traveled the globe, visiting military bases, science laboratories and Ivy League college campuses, in an effort to speak to as many potential candidates, as they could.

  They boasted that they were ready to begin construction on new terra forming facilities and that those who were willing to make the journey, were paving the way for a better future for humankind. The 253 passenger rockets could then be launched once every three months, instead of once a year.

  From 2010-2012, the ten new Marcs had been dispatched, and 2,530 more people had been shipped out to other Martian landing sites. Aside from Aeolis Mons, the majority of the new colonists had been dispatched to the Gusev Crater, which was of interest, because it was believed to have at one time been the site of a very long and deep lake. This made it an ideal spot on which to build a facility, because it would have very little exposure to the harshness of the Martian environment.

  Others were sent to Meridiani Planum, which was a plain rich with hematite, a mineral typically formed in hot springs on Earth. Any colonists sent to the plain, were instructed to dig into the Martian soil, in the hopes of finding a hypothesized underground river of toxic, but eventually viable water.

  After 2012, no additional manned missions were launched to Mars for some time. As the years passed, the family and friends of those who had departed from Earth, were becoming restless and threatened to release their knowledge of Darkside’s Mars Initiative to the general public, if they were not continuously updated by their loved ones.

  In exchange for their silence, the colonists’ friends and family were given secret links to online video feed from the mission, including personal messages from those who had left them behind. It seemed to appease the majority of those who had spoken out at first, but as time went on, more frustration ensued.

  The video messages were gargled and filled with static. They were difficult to understand and faces were often impossible to make out. Angry parents would bombard the Darkside offices with phone calls, saying that the people sending those messages, were not even their sons or daughters.

  What had begun as controversy, then quickly evolved into a massive and outspoken conspiracy theorist movement. However, thanks to a plentiful supply of science fiction television and film, as well as the already popular conspiracy theories surrounding Roswell, New Mexico and Area 51, anyone who went to the media about the secret Mars missions were almost immediately disregarded and laughed at.

  By 2020, the majority of the people who had lost friends and family members to Mars, had given up on threatening Darkside. Those not naïve about the situation knew that their cries would continue to go unheard and that they were never going to see or hear from the colonists again.

  8 more years would pass, before Drellic arrived on Earth in May of 2028. Once he began single handedly dominating all of human society, the Martian colonists had become seemingly forgotten. More questions surrounding the Martian colonies didn’t arise until months after Drellic’s sudden and mysterious defeat, as loosely formed factions around the globe, began marking their territories and worked to rebuild the societies that once were.

  Most of the Darkside officials who knew the truth about Mars, had died during the Drellic War. Those who lived to endure, either never had the security clearance necessary to learn the truth, or had taken a vow of silence. But there was one man at the center of the Mars situation, whom had taken a particular interest in three resistance fighters, who had made the unfortunate mistake of sneaking away to Mars with Drellic’s mortal remains, at the end of the war.

  His name was Winston Severov, a portly Russian man in his early 60’s, with short dark hair, parted neatly on his right and flawlessly slicked to his left. His hair reached a sharp point just over his left eye, like a small pocket knife. His eyes were dark blue and cold and he stood just under 5 feet, 7 inches tall.

  But for a stout, shorter man, he had an incredibly intimidating presence, causing those around him to avoid looking him in the eye, but cautiously look over their shoulders, as he passed.

  The date was January 7th, 2032, and Winston was currently the commanding officer at a new Darkside training facility in Moscow, Russia. He was sitting in his office, which was very old fashioned looking, considering the time period. He sat behind a large wooden desk, covered in stacks of miscellaneous papers and corresponding bland, circular silver paper weights.

  Cigar smoke flowed from his ash tray, at the corner of the desk and lined the smoke stained burgundy walls that surrounded him. The room was dimly lit, as sunshine crept through the blinds, covering the large glass window behind him. The window was only open a crack, allowing for the slightest breeze to occasionally sneak passed the blinds and interfere with the steady flow of cigar smoke, which was continuing to collect in an ominous fog, above him.

  Sitting in the center of his desk, was a 1960’s typewriter. The off white colored sheet of paper inside, had already accumulated a paragraph’s worth of Winston’s orders for his loyal foot soldiers, waiting downstairs in the building’s main foyer. Winston then cracked his pale knuckles and allowed his long, slender pale fingers to seamlessly glide over the keys, as he continued typing his confidential document.

  After Drellic’s invasion of Moscow, f
our years earlier, most modern technology had either been confiscated or was destroyed throughout the entire country. Most would’ve considered the very presence of an old fashioned type writer to be a gross inconvenience, but Winston rather appreciated the simplicity of it. He felt that the simple act of hand delivering orders on a piece of paper, typed on the primitive contraption, reflected the simplicity and directness of the orders themselves.

  “Apprehend Callum Hammond, Simone West-Hammond and Maryann Santos, as per previous request. Last known whereabouts enclosed in previous document”, were the opening lines on his newest page, and were written using the Cyrillic alphabet, still commonly used in the region.

  English had been the dominate language spoken throughout the world since the 2020’s, but Winston was a patriot to the old Soviet Union, and although he kept that part of himself a secret, while acting within the Darkside ranks, he still took advantage of every opportunity to showcase it, discretely.

  Winston pushed the typewriter’s platen to the side and began his next line. He displayed the slightest hint of hesitation, before he began typing his next words which read, “The use of deadly force has been authorized, in the event that the targets resist arrest”.

  His brief hesitation might have been misinterpreted by some, as an internal struggle between himself and his conscience, but Winston was merely pondering the right way to word his final orders, as a sly smile came across his face.

  Once he finished typing his name and Darkside title, “Priority One Overseer”, at the bottom of the page, he carefully removed the page from the type writer and signed his name with a dusty, black BIC pen, which was jagged and deformed at the end, from Winston having chewed on it for hours, day to day.

  He then, both promptly and neatly, folded the piece of paper twice over and placed his orders in a small manila envelope. After reaching for his cigar, taking one final long puff and putting it out in the ashtray, he rose from his creaky wooden chair and exhaled a long stream of smoke, reminiscent of a steam trail from an old locomotive.

  He then held the manila envelope firmly in his right hand and glided towards his chipped and scratched wooden door. It opened with a shrill creaking sound and revealed a long dark hallway, the walls and corners of which, were barely visible to the eye.

  The ceiling was lined with dimly lit spotlights. As a result, Winston seemed to disappear in and out of existence, as he passed beneath them. Upon reaching the end of the hallway, he made his way down a rickety, wooden spiral staircase.

  Six men, wearing black ski masks, black overalls and holding oversized, black assault rifles, were there to meet him, when he reached the bottom. They quickly sprinted across the shiny marble floor of the main foyer. The bright sun, shone down on them through a gargantuan, circular crystal skylight over their heads, illuminating the flawless, freshly painted white walls that enclosed the room.

  One of the foot soldiers reluctantly approached Winston, who wore a stern, authoritative look upon his face. Winston handed the envelope to the foot soldier, who quickly, but carefully, took it from him and placed it in his chest pocket, inside his overalls.

  After nodding to Winston and returning his attention to his fellow officers, they marched towards the building’s main entrance in single file, leaving Winston alone, to ponder the probability of the mission’s success, from the base of the staircase.

  Winston then walked behind the staircase, towards golden elevator doors that gleamed in the piercing sunlight. He pressed a red key on the wall, to the right of the doors, causing them to promptly part ways, allowing him to enter the cramped, musty elevator car.

  The gray interior of the elevator was moldy and dusty, with smoke stains lining the four top corners of the car. Once the doors closed, he pressed another single red key, to the left of the inner doors and watched carefully, as the red digital floor counter above him, counted down from 1, to 0A, to 0B.

  Winston came to an abrupt stop on Level 0B and jolted ever so slightly, though it didn’t seem to faze him. The elevator doors parted ways again, revealing a large steel walled hangar bay. It was brightly illuminated by three giant spotlights on the ceiling, offering a haunting and enchanting glow to the sleek spacecraft, parked beneath them.

  The ship that Winston was quickly approaching, was the recon patrol ship that Callum Hammond, Simone West-Hammond and Maryann Santos had stolen from Drellic’s forces and flown to Mars, a few months earlier.

  The ship seemed weightless, as it was still hovering just a few feet off the ground, in its typical fashion, even though the ship itself had been completely shut down for days. Even Winston’s best and brightest engineers had no idea as to the nature of the “auto-hover” like technology, present in the ship’s propulsion system; a system which seemed to run on an unknown, undetectable and self-renewing energy source.

  He shielded his eyes from the ship’s gleaming silver hull, as he opened the side hatch and stepped inside the dark cabin of the vessel. He pulled a small black touch screen remote from his pocket and tapped a few keys. This brought a single computer console inside the ship’s cabin, online.

  A faint buzzing sound could be heard from the console’s power source, as a keypad and monitor were revealed, glowing pleasantly in the vessel’s otherwise pitch black rear compartment. A dark green and slimy, almost organic-like cable fiber, connected the left side of the keypad to a shiny metallic box, covered in the ancient human language, relevant during the time of Drellic’s war with the Architects.

  This device, was the ancient recorder that Darkside had discovered in Antarctica years earlier; the device which had first alerted them to the existence of the ancient human civilizations on Earth and Mars, previous to the now disproved Big Bang Theory.

  Winston peered over at the three metallic seats in the ship’s cockpit to his right, dangling from the ceiling, by the presumably unsecure metal beams, and organic straps, which seemed to slither down from the ceiling on their own, awaiting Winston’s weight to be applied to one of the chairs.

  He quickly dismissed the idea of using one of them and knelt down in front of the glowing data screen. He touched certain word characters on the top of the ageless recording device, in a certain order and observed, as a white trail of energy slid from the recorder to the monitor, via the organic fiber.

  The first of many events and images were instantly displayed on the screen. Winston looked on, as a panoramic view of the city of Siren on Ancient Earth, intensely brightened the cabin of the ship. He then used the keypad, to fast forward through the various still frame images and video feeds, until he reached a pulled back view of an Earth-like world, in close proximity with a larger world, of nearly the same appearance and composition; partially eclipsed by the smaller of the two.

  This was a video stream of Siren and Tyrann, or Earth and Mars, traveling together on their closely timed elliptical orbits around their sun. Winston then used the keypad to fast forward several hours ahead, in just a few seconds, until he reached the footage he had been searching for from the beginning.

  A tall pale man with short, bleach blond hair, bright blue eyes and chapped white lips, was shown, sitting in a dimly lit room, intently staring at a crude looking monitor. The tall, thin man, roughly eight feet tall, and dressed in a flowing, light blue robe, was gazing intently at his screen, in almost the same way that Winston was staring at him, from the cabin of the recon ship.

  The man looked on, as a static filled image appeared on the monitor before him, revealing the face of Drellic Kail. Winston eagerly and attentively continue to watch, as boiling hot sparks, began to fly at the frightened looking man from the miscellaneous and incredibly advanced looking electronics, lining the walls of his room.

  Winston then leaned in closer to his screen, struggling to hear the words being spoken by both the pale, blond man and Drellic.

  “Slain, Mine von da net de veren,” Drellic said to the man, with what Winston perceived to be a heavy heart.

&nbs
p; Winston quickly rose from his knee and decided to reposition himself, by sitting flat on the floor of the still quietly hovering ship. This was the moment he had been waiting for. As he made himself comfortable, he pulled a small black book from his pocket, which was filled with black ink scribbled words from the ancient human language, along with their corresponding English translations.

  Upon frantically flipping through the pages and replaying Drellic’s first few words to the mysterious blond man, over and over again, he had finally come to understand their meaning.

  In a moment of weakness and utter sadness, Drellic had said, “Brother, I fear the end is coming.”

  Winston was witnessing a fifteen billion year old conversation, between Drellic and his younger brother, Daelon Kail.

  Part One: Of Destiny