In the Beginning: Mars Origin I Series Book I

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “So, they didn’t just clone themselves?”

  “It doesn’t appear that they did.”

  “That’s why the Neanderthal is not genetically related to man?”

  “Yep, they made him from scratch, sorta speak.”

  “Is that what modern scientists think?”

  “That the people on Mars created the Neanderthal? No.” I laughed. “I don’t know what they think, but I’m sure they don’t think that. All they know is that the Neanderthal and man ‘evolved’ or came into being, however you want to say it, separately. And at some point they mated.”

  “We mated with the Neanderthal? Yuck.” He frowned up his face. Do the manuscripts say that, too?”

  “Yep.”

  “Another piece to the puzzle?”

  “Well, in a way. Scientists up until now, 1998, don’t know that humans mated with the Neanderthal.”

  “They don’t?” I nodded. “Oh, but you do?” I nodded again.

  “We visited our man over the centuries. We were proud of them as if they were our children. Interference was forbidden, yet, some of those who were Watchers became more than observers. Staining our bloodline forever,” I quoted.

  “I’m not so sure about that one, Justin.”

  “Just wait, you’ll see. With the advances in DNA today, it’ll only be a matter of time before they find that out.”

  “What else?” He wiggled down into the chair, pulled the square accent pillow from behind his back and held it in his arms.

  “Ah, you’re liking this, huh?”

  “I’m just trying to keep you busy until the man in the white suit gets here.”

  I threw my pillow at him. “You’re not funny.”

  “Ah, baby, you know I’m just kidding.”

  “You believe me?”

  “Not yet,” he said with a sly grin. “Tell me more. What about Area 51?”

  “There is no Area 51.”

  “Well, that’s the secret. And now that we, well me and you, know that there were aliens then maybe there really is an Area 51.”

  “Mase, Area 51 couldn’t house aliens because humans were the ones that came from outer space. And the spaceships that brought them here left more than 200,000 years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  “How about I tell you why ninety percent of the animals on Madagascar are only indigenous to that island? Or how the stones were cut with such precision at the Cambay ruins? Or, I could tell you about the lost continent of Atlantis.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Atlantis?” I could see a sparkle in his eye. “The manuscripts . . . That’s . . . That’s in the manuscripts? Atlantis?”

  I nodded.

  “There really was an Atlantis?”

  “Uh huh.” I said playfully.

  “Oh, yeah. Tell me about Atlantis.”

  “Nope.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’ma tell you about the Indians instead.”

  “Oh, yeah. I did say we’d come back to that one. But you are going to tell me the rest of the stuff, too, right?”

  “Yep. Eventually.”

  “So, finish telling me about the new inhabitants of Earth.”

  “In the manuscript it says that the people allowed to come to the new earth would be of one kind. That difference breeds hatred. Remember I told you that was in Dr. Yeoman’s journal?”

  “I remember.”

  “’So, they played with Earth - - excuse me, I won’t say words that’s not in the manuscript, the third planet, they played with the third planet for millions of years. Conducting scientific experiments like creating the dinosaurs, and people and even vegetation and atmospheric changes. But something happened on their planet, the fourth planet.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you said that already, some kind of nuclear activity, killing most of the people and making their planet inhabitable. Keep going.”

  “My, aren’t we impatient,” I said. “Anywho, while living underground they decided to move to this planet. But they decided to only send one race of people and no technology,” I nodded at Mase to let him know that I realized I was repeating myself, “but that plan was sabotaged.”

  “What happened?” Mase sat up and leaned forward.

  “The one race was to populate the entire planet. They were taken from among the other underground inhabitants and for years allowed to populate and develop without any technology or education. Each generation becoming less and less savvy, and less and less intelligent. The remaining population had no idea of the separated group and still lived as they had before moving underground. The plan was to ship the one race to the new planet, and then board and launch everyone else out into space to suffer their fate, and leaving little evidence on the planet of their life.”

  A faint laugh slipped from his throat. “They placed Indians all over the planet and that was supposed to be the end of it?"

  “Yep. But the plan to leave everyone else was discovered. Sabotage ensued. The other races took spaceships and came to Earth, too. I’m thinking they landed somewhere around Africa.”

  “Do the manuscripts say that they landed in Africa?”

  “No.” I looked at him for a minute, waiting for his comment.

  “So, that’s why we have different races? Because others from Mars came?” I nodded. “Go on,” he said.

  “And that’s the reason that when explorations from the Western World, a world of many races, “discovered” new lands, they were already inhabited -”

  “With Indians.” He finished my sentence.

  I chuckled. “Yep, with Indians.”

  “So the similarities in language, art, beliefs among people thousands of miles apart are because they all once shared a common history and technology on Mars?”

  “Yeah. And sometimes they lived on this planet. To run their experiments. To watch their creations. To learn more about how to move to this planet. They experimented leaving the Indians on the planet. That’s how entire peoples, like the Incas, the Olmec and the Minoans disappeared suddenly. They went back to Mars.

  “This is unbelievable.” Mase sat back in the chair. He stared out into space as if he was putting all of this together. I think, despite his comment, he finally believed me. He finally believed that Man came from Mars.

  I leaned back in the chair, closed my eyes momentarily and opened them again. I glanced over at Mase and thought, here I sit, recreating the beginning of man’s origins on this planet with my husband, in my study, at my house, in Cleveland, Ohio.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Washington, D. C.

  December, 1999

  The day had started out horribly. A blizzard had brewed up overnight and had hit hard. With it came more than a foot-and-a-half of snow. Robert Kevron spent two hours cleaning the snow off of his car, shoveling the driveway and traveling from his home in Maryland to the his office at the Department of Defense.

  He had a huge office overlooking the Potomac, twenty-five years on the job, four years to retirement and as a high-level counterintelligence officer he had a head full of top secret information to which only a handful of people were privy. He often wondered what his fate would be once he was left the daily grind.

  The term ‘Top Secret’ meant very little to him anymore but he knew that someone must hold that term near and dear to their hearts because it was always stamped all over the papers he received. He had become immune to the ‘nasties’ the government participated in covering up. It was important not to let fear from his knowledge of terrorists and covert acts overcome him. He knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to keep any kind of worthwhile existence. This was just a job. He didn’t get hung up on the intricacies. He didn’t tell many other people that, though. He liked for others to think that all this ‘spy’ stuff was a priority in his life. It wasn’t.

  Tall and fit, he had blue eyes, light brown hair and a square jaw, looking much younger than his fifty-eight years. He was counting the days until he could move back to Alabama, sit b
ack and relax with a tall glass of sweet tea in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other. This job had really made him a cynic, and he looked forward to not having anything to worry about except what he would shoot for supper.

  All the snow had stranded and stalled most of the cars that had ventured out. Mr. Kevron and his black Chevy Blazer didn’t have any problems getting through and he was thoroughly irritated with everyone else that had gotten in his way by the time he got to Arlington. Taking a back corridor that led directly to his inner office, he checked for his cup of piping hot coffee that always was on his desk, front and center, when he arrived. This morning, there was nothing.

  “One would think that one could at least have a cup of coffee in one’s own office on such a cold and dreary morning,” he spoke loudly, but to no response. “Did the coffee beans freeze as well?”

  He turned on his intercom and in a booming voice tried to summon his secretary.

  “Ms. Adams,” he yelled into the mic. Hopefully his formality would get him a quicker response and let her know how serious a situation this was.

  No answer.

  “Ms. Adams,” he shouted again into the intercom, moving closer to it to make himself more audible.

  Still, no answer.

  He walked out to the front office, “Angela,” he shouted, rotating back and forth with his arms outstretched. Everything looked the same as it had the night before.

  He walked back into his office just as the phone rang. He stopped in his tracks and stared at it. He wasn’t in the habit of answering his own phone. It rang twice more before he walked over to his desk and picked it up.

  “Hello?” He asked more than stated.

  “Mr. Kevron, this is Angela.”

  “Yes, Angela, I was just looking for you and my coffee.”

  “Well, Sir, I’m running late with the snow and all,” she said in a rushed voice. “My car wouldn’t start, and I’m waiting for AAA now.”

  “Then you’ll be in?”

  “Yes. Well, actually, first I’ll have to get my daughter to daycare and then I’ll be in.”

  He sat down hard in his chair. “Well, I guess this means I’ll have to make my own coffee, huh?’ he replied, clearly agitated.

  She answered apologetically, “I guess so, Sir.”

  “Fine.” What else could he say? “Just get here as soon as you can.” He hung up the phone and shook his head. “Whatever happened to the secretarial pool? Aren’t they supposed to send someone over?”

  “No coffee, no secretary, tons of snow, what’s next, some major act of terrorism?” Just as he spoke the phone rang, again.

  “Hello.” He answered with more confidence this time.

  He could hear the person’s hesitation on the other end.

  “Hel - lo,” he said again, drawing the word out.

  “Uh, yes, uh – may I speak with Mr. Kevron please?”

  “Major.” He recognized the voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “Mr. Kevron? Sorry, Sir, I didn’t expect you to answer your phone.” Major Jack Hughes spoke on the other end.

  “Get on with it,” Kevron said slightly annoyed. “Tell me what you want. I’ve got to try and get me some coffee before I go into caffeine withdrawal.”

  “Well, Sir, I wanted to make sure you had gotten in.”

  “Yes, I’m here. Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry but I needed to inform you that there needs to be a meeting.”

  “Yes, all right,” he sounded less irritated. A meeting meant possibly something ‘top secret.’ He knew not to ask too many questions over the phone. “I see,” he said, “Come right over.”

  He hung up the phone and went back out to the outer office to look for a coffee pot. He knew once the “meeting” started he wouldn’t be able to sit through it without being caffeinated.

  By the time he rustled up some coffee from the basement cafeteria and sat back down at his desk, Major Hughes was knocking at his partially opened door and waiting for permission to come in. Jack Hughes was handsome. Thick black hair, that curled if he let it grow too long, tan colored skin, and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Probably right at six feet, he was muscular and somewhat pigeon-toed. He held under his arm a single manila folder. Mr. Kevron looked up and nodded.

  “Still missing a secretary I see, Sir.” Major Hughes, standing at the door in a blue, neatly pressed uniform, gave a half-smile.

  “Yes, she’s still missing,” Kevron answered. “But I did find me some coffee.” He held up the cup. “Come in, have a seat.”

  “We’ll have another participant, Sir.”

  Mr. Kevron peered over the rim of his coffee cup as he took another sip, surprised at the addition of a third person.

  “Oh, okay. Show them in.”

  Mr. Kevron set the coffee down on his desk and stood to greet his guest.

  “This is Dr. Mark Phillips. He is in charge of the Mars Space Mission programs at NASA. Dr. Phillips, our Senior CI Officer, Mr. Robert Kevron.” Kevron leaned over his desk and shook hands with the space guy.

  “Pleasure,” Mr. Kevron said. Then walked around his desk to his office door and shut it.

  Returning to his desk, Mr. Kevron adjusted himself back in his seat, “Sorry, I can’t offer you any coffee. My secretary’s stuck in the snow.”

  He gave Dr. Phillips a once over. Sandy colored hair, pocket protector, glasses, covering blue eyes that blinked excessively – typical, he thought. At his waist Dr. Phillips wore a pocket calculator in a case attached to his belt as if it were a gun in a holster, which Kevron found funny. Initially impressed with his good posture, Mr. Kevron cringed when Dr. Phillips’ opened his mouth to speak and a high-pitched, nasal voice eked from his throat.

  “Oh, that’s fine. I had a cup earlier this morning.” Dr. Phillips said and smiled at Mr. Kevron.

  “So, what’s going on, Major?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, Sir, it seems that NASA has made some, well should we say, ‘peculiar’ findings from the soil samples brought back by their Mars’ probe.”

  “Really?” Showing no sign of interest, he blew into the cup and took another sip of his coffee.

  “Yes, Sir. And it has come to our attention that the potential knowledge by the public at large of their findings may be a matter of public safety.”

  “So what, you guys find Martians?” He glanced over at Dr. Phillips.

  “In a matter of speaking, Sir, they have,” Major Hughes answered.

  “Isn’t that what they’re looking for, alien life? What’s the problem now?”

  “Well, Sir, they didn’t actually find any life or life forms, but they are assuming alien life because the soil showed evidence of some kind of nuclear activity.” Mr. Kevron raised an eyebrow.

  “Nuclear activity? Is that right, Dr. Phillips?” This piqued his interest.

  “Yes.” Dr. Phillips nodded and said nothing more.

  “Well, are you going to tell me about it, or will I have to torture you to get the information?” Mr. Kevron said, raising a questioning eyebrow.

  “As you know,” Dr. Phillips began to speak slowly, unsure of what to make of his comment, “over the past twenty-three years we have had several space vehicles that have gone to Mars. Some successful and some not so much.”

  “In recent years we have collaborated with the Russians on some of these projects and they have been extremely successful. And, while we have found out some very worthwhile information over the years, we have yet to find out anything this extraordinary.”

  “Russians?” Mr. Kevron asked.

  “Yes, Russians.” Dr. Phillips answered. “I notice the hesitation in your voice Mr. Kevron concerning working with Russians. However, I assure you we have worked very circumspectly with them and as I said, it has been a very productive and valuable collaboration.”

  He reached in his briefcase and took out copies of a report. He handed one each to Mr. Kevron and Major Hughes.

  “In particular
,” he began, “soil analyses sent back by the Mars’ Climate Orbiter before it stopped communicating back in September showed some very interesting data. Coupled with soil samples that we’ve collected over the past decade, our interest in Mars’ history has risen exponentially.”

  “Well, how did it get there?”

  “That’s where the problem lies, Sir.” Major Hughes interjected. “Either it came from the, um, the Martians themselves or some other life that invaded the planet. They’re not really sure.”

  Dr. Phillips gave a look at the Major that showed his disgust in the less than truthful statement. “Certainly, we have not come to any such determinations. Presently, there are no such things as Martians. Or, for that matter, any other known alien life.” Dr. Phillips’ dislike for being a part of this meeting seemed to equal that of Mr. Kevron’s. “At least none that we have knowledge of.” Still he couldn’t let his feelings lead him to make such conclusionary statements. “But, I don’t assume either, that in this vast universe we are the only beings that exist. And this, what we’ve found, is highly unusual.”

  “So I’ll ask again. How did it get there?”

  “We’re not sure.”

  Mr. Kevron glanced down at his watch. He really wasn’t too interested in all of this ‘space and beyond’ crap, especially to this extent. His primary concern was what the left and right wing terrorists might be doing, and keeping the public with insufficient information so that there wouldn’t be any panicking until all was resolved. This sci-fi madness was total nonsense to him. There was no present danger, and so, in his mind, no real concern.

  “What exactly is it that you’ve found?” He was trying to push the conversation along to get to what he needed to know.

  “The soil samples show an inordinate amount of radioactivity. It is the same kind of activity that would be present after some kind of nuclear reaction.” He paused, waiting for the impact of what he had said to sink in. Mr. Kevron didn’t bat an eye.

  “As you know,” Dr. Phillips surveyed his audience, “or perhaps don’t know, radioactive elements have different rates of disintegration. We can determine how long ago the radioactive emissions occurred by the amount of the decay of the element that is present. This is measured in half-lives, that is, the time it takes for one half of any given quantity of a radioactive element to disintegrate. From our calculations, it appears that the nuclear reaction occurred anywhere from two-hundred thousand to five-hundred thousand years ago. Now, just to give you some kind of time reference, that is approximately the same time that intelligent human life first appeared on Earth.”