Adventure in New Atlantis

James Abraham Carter

Preface

The following is a novella inspired by the pulp science fiction magazines of the early twentieth century. Today, we know that Mars is an uninhabited world, but this story takes place in an alternative universe where things are different from what we are familiar with.

1. The Signal

The year was 1952. It began as a whisper in a sea of static.

Deep in the vaulted halls of the Lowell Institute for Interstellar Studies, Professor Maxwell Lowell stared at a cascade of waveforms undulating across his monitors. The data collected by the Reber radio telescope was nothing like any known signals. The carrier frequency lay between the hydrogen line and the standard deep space bands, and the modulation—short bursts of amplitude that rose and fell in a pattern distinct from the cosmic microwave background.

Maxwell felt the thrill of discovery infuse his entire being, a sensation he had not experienced this strongly since the first time he looked through a telescope as a boy. “It’s not noise,” he said, his voice alive with excitement as he spoke to his small team gathered around the console. “It’s a signal - a sign of intelligent life, and it is coming from Mars.”

Maxwell turned to his astounded colleagues. “Gentlemen, this is a historic moment. We must do more than merely listen. We must send someone to investigate!”

The team was modest but brilliant: Edmond Roy, a mechanical engineer whose hands could turn inert metal into engineering marvels; James Carpenter, a physicist whose mind dwelled on exotic fields and the curvature of spacetime; and a pair of younger technicians who competently assisted with research.

Together, they set to work to achieve humanity’s most audacious undertaking.

2. The Sphere

Four years of toil passed. The team’s workshop was permeated with the hiss of electromagnetic coils and the glow of experimental antigravity generators as they labored at the monumental task of perfecting spaceflight. The team’s breakthrough came when Edmond managed to stabilize a localized manipulation of the quantum vacuum, creating a field that could counteract the curvature of spacetime.

“It’s not a rocket,” Edmond announced, his eyes bright as the sphere on the launch pad reflected the dim lights of the underground facility. “It’s a bubble. The whole thing floats, so to speak, in the fabric of space-time.”

The sphere, christened ARGOS, was a gleaming orb of reinforced alloy, a hundred feet in diameter; its surface embedded with a lattice of glowing conduits. Inside, the control room was an array of instrument panels that glowed in soft blues and greens. The antigravity field could be manipulated to give the craft lift, thrust, and precise maneuverability without propellant—a true leap forward for humanity.

Maxwell’s nephew, Jason Newland, was the only one who had passed the rigorous tests required to pilot the experimental craft. A former airman in the United States Airforce, Jason possessed the reflexes and calm under pressure that the mission demanded. When Maxwell approached him with the proposal, Jason’s first reaction was practical: “What’s the payoff?” The answer was simple and profound. “We finally know what kind of life exists on Mars.” That was enough.

A week later, after passing the final test on the flight simulator, Jason sat before his uncle, receiving his pre-launch briefing. “Ten hours,” Edomand told him, pointing to the complex calculations written on the blackboard. “That’s the theoretical flight time from Earth to the Martian surface.”

Jason nodded, feeling the weight of history settle on his shoulders. He would be the first human to set foot on a world that was not only alien but was probably already inhabited.

3. Arrival

The launch was a quiet affair; the hordes of press and onlookers were kept well back. The sphere rose from the subterranean bay with a hiss of lifting fields; the antigravity coils surrounded the craft with a shimmer similar to a heat haze. The facility’s roof slid back, and the ship rose into the sky, vanishing into the heavens as it swiftly receded from Earth. Within ten hours, Mars’s ruddy globe grew in the viewport, becoming larger and more defined until the rugged curvature of a world without oceans came into focus.

From space, the Red Planet greeted Jason with a harsh, beautiful stillness. Beneath the crimson sky lay valleys scarred by ancient riverbeds, and a landscape dotted with strange, spiny cacti—tall, skeletal plants with translucent violet skin that glowed faintly when the sun struck them at low angles. In the distance, dust storms howled through the desolate hills.

Jason lowered the sphere to a gentle hover above an ancient landscape of time-worn hills; the antigravity field eased the craft down onto a flat area of fine, rust-colored sand. The touchdown was soft; the sphere settled on its tripod landing gear as if it were a feather rather than ten tons of tough alloy.

He stepped out, his boots kicking up fine particles that twirled in the thin atmosphere. The air smelled of iron and minerals, and an alien wind whistled eerily through a grove of strange cacti.

In his hand, he carried a small detector, a compact device tuned to the peculiar pattern of the Martian signal. The instrument beeped softly, each pulse a promise of something beyond the ordinary.

The distant sun was low on the horizon as he followed the pointing needle of the instrument across the barren plain, the beeps growing steadier as he entered a deep valley that cut between two ridgelines like a wound. The walls of the depression were streaked with ochre and copper, and at its center rose a series of structures, partially buried by drifting sand that seemed, against all logic, to be the ruins of an ancient city.

Jason stopped dead in his tracks. The architecture was unmistakably classical: towering columns, pediments, and friezes that bore stylized motifs very similar to those that once adorned the marble temples of ancient Hellas. But the stone was not marble. It had been replaced by a strange, lucid mineral that was flecked with gold and refracted the weak sunlight into a spectrum of muted colors. It was as if the architects of a long-lost civilization had tried to recreate a mythic past on an alien world.

The detector’s beeping quickened, indicating that the signal came from within the ruins.

4. The Scream

A shrill scream ripped through the valley; the sound of raw terror echoed off the stone. Instinctively, Jason turned toward the source. Again, the scream sounded - It emanated from behind a rocky outcrop. Without delay, Jason raced around the stony mass and saw that a young woman—her hair a cascade of ebony curls, her skin the color of mahogany—was being dragged into the shadows by a creature that could only be described as a nightmare.

The monster was hulking, its body a mass of slick, ebony scales that caught the light and turned it into an oily sheen. Its eyes glowed a sickly yellow, and rows of serrated teeth protruded from a snarling maw.

Jason didn’t hesitate. He drew his sidearm—a .45 automatic—and shouted wildly, waving his arms to draw the horrid beast’s attention.

“Over here!” He bellowed, his voice carrying strongly in the thin air.

The creature released the girl, casting her aside. It roared madly and rushed at Jason. Its clawed feet pounded the ground, sending up clouds of dust. Jason squeezed the trigger. The gun bucked thunderously in his hand, and the streaking bullet slammed into the monster’s scaled chest.

The beast recoiled, wounded, but it did not retreat. Undeterred, it lunged forward, snarling furiously, madly intent on tearing the Earthman limb from limb. Jason bravely stood his ground. He fired a second shot, the weapon spitting hot lead that hit the creature’s bony skull, causing it to howl—an unearthly, high-pitched sound that stabbed his eardrums with its feral violence.

The monster staggered. It turned and fled away. Jason watched the nightmarish beast vanish into the arid waste of the Martian desert, and when he was certain it wasn’t coming back, he shifted his attention to the young woman, who appeared to be eighteen Eart years of age.

She lay in the shadow of the outcrop, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with amazement and gratitude. Her composure regained, she spoke. The words that escaped her lips were in Classical Greek; a language Jason was familiar with from his studies at university.

“Ευχαριστώ,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you.”

“My name is Jason,” he replied in the same language, still keeping his weapon ready should another horror threaten them. “Who are you? How is it that you speak Greek, a language of ancient Earth, and yet here you are on Mars?”

“My name is Lyola,” she answered, rising slowly. Her gaze lingered on him, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause. There was an uncanny familiarity to her, a sense that destiny itself had intertwined their fates.

“You will find all the answers to your questions within New Atlantis, the city you see before you. Come.”

“New Atlantis,” he breathed, astonished.

She reached out to him with a smile, and Jason felt a surge of something ancient and mysterious, as if they had known each other in a former life. He took her hand, and together they began to walk toward the ruined city.

5. New Atlantis

The streets of the city were silent; the stone pathways were cracked and, in places, overgrown with the same strange cacti that dotted the Martian desert. The few remaining structures bore the weight of centuries of neglect. In the heart of the crumbling metropolis was a huge temple, its surface a mosaic of gold and gemstones that caught the fading light.

Jason followed her into the temple and down a hallway. The walls were lined with frescoes that depicted strange airships sailing across skies as blue as those of Earth, and people—human in form—moving through the streets of ancient cities. The frescoes told a story Jason could not yet fully grasp.

Lyola gestured toward a massive door of brass and stone at the end of the corridor; its surface etched with looping script that seemed to shift when viewed from the corner of the eye. The door opened automatically before them.

Inside, a complex machine ticked like a giant clock, its gears turning slowly, its crystal facets catching and refracting light into a kaleidoscope of colors. The detector’s beeps spiked. Here was the source of the mysterious signal. As Jason approached, the machine projected a holographic image of a young man, his features sharp, his eyes bright with an intelligence that spanned ages.

Lyola fell to her knees and prostrated herself on the dusty floor. Jason was shocked by her actions, but before he could react, the image spoke.

“I am Hekros,” the hologram announced in a resonant, slightly metallic voice after Lyola, still lying in the dust, had introduced the Earthman. “I have awaited your arrival, Jason of Earth. My enhanced senses detected the approach of your ship to Mars and its landing. I sent Lyola as my emissary to greet you.

“What you see before you is a colony of Atlantis, marooned here when our motherland sank beneath the waves in a geological apocalypse. My race is dying, nearing extinction. Only three of us are left. I saw you fight the monster, but I was powerless to intervene. It is a horror spawned by the desert and now threatens to end our lives. We need your help to kill the creature. That is the purpose of my signal.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t that he doubted the historical facts as recounted by Hekros. Atlantis had been recognized as a reality since the late 19th century, when archaeologists discovered the remnants of an advanced, sunken civilization off the coast of Greece. But something about the situation here on Mars felt off. The hologram’s eerie demeanor, the way Lyola prostrated herself before the machine as if it were a god, and the palpable decay of the city—all hinted at something sinister hidden in the shadows, something more than just the menace of the monster.

He chose caution over bravado. “I can consider helping,” he said, “but I need more information about this monster and your situation in order to be effective.”

The hologram seemed to tense with suppressed anger; then the image smiled. “As you wish, Jason. Lyola will show you the palace. It grows late. Rest now; we will speak further in the morning.”

The projection faded, and the room fell into a hushed, oppressive silence.

6. The Palace

Lyola led Jason from the temple to another building, which was smaller, its glory also crumbling. They passed through empty corridors that smelled of dust and had about them a penumbra of decay. The palace, though once magnificent, was now in a state of slow dissolution, a shadow of its former self. Tattered, threadbare tapestries hung from the walls, their colors faded to mournful hues. A great hall opened before them, its long stone table bearing a dented silver bowl containing dried cactus fruits and a flask of water beside a chipped crystal beaker.

Lyola gestured to the table’s rickety chair. “You may rest here,” she said, her voice soft. “We have little, but we will share what we have. When you have finished eating, I will show you where you can sleep.”

Further conversation stopped as a woman entered the hall, her silhouette framed by the doorway. She was tall, older than Lyola, with hair that fell in wild, tangled locks and staring eyes that were alive with a fevered expression. Lyola introduced her as Tilla.

Tilla’s silent stare became fixed on Jason, unblinking, her pupils dilated. A faint smile curved her lips, but it held no warmth—only a desperate, almost feral hunger. She looked at him for a long, uncomfortable moment before turning and gliding out of the hall, leaving behind an eerie silence that seemed to settle into Jason’s bones.

Jason could feel a growing sense of unease creeping into him. He turned to Lyola, who was pouring water from the flask into the chipped beaker.

“Something is not right,” he said quietly, intently watching her expression. “What is really going on here? I need to know the truth if I am to help you.”

Lyola’s hands trembled as she placed the flask down and looked around. It was as if she were afraid of unseen listeners. The flickering light from the single oil lamp illuminated a faint scar across her cheek—a mark of an old injury. She hesitated, then drew near to Jason and whispered, “Hekros... he is… our ruler. Once he was a brilliant man. However, he sought to cheat death by having his brain transplanted into the machine you saw. That was a thousand years ago.

But over time, he has become deranged, believing himself to be divine. The monster you fought is a recent creation of his, designed to mate with us to preserve our lineage. He believed that by creating a synthetic being, he could ensure the future of our race. The original colonists were few in number. Over the ages, the curse of inbreeding has afflicted us: infertility, malformed babies that did not live long, and falling birth rates. After the passing of many centuries, our numbers have dwindled. The attacks of the creature diminished us further, and now only the three of us remain.”

Jason’s stomach lurched with revulsion. “You’re saying Hekros forced you to breed with a monster?”

Lyola’s eyes filled with tears. “That was his plan, but the creature escaped his control. It is extremely violent. I fear it is only a matter of time before it kills us all.”

Jason swore, his expression grim. “Lyola," he said. "I have to get you out of here. This is no way to live - at the mercy of a madman and his devilish creation. We’ll return to my ship, and I’ll take you to Earth. Tilla can come as well. It will be cramped, but we can’t leave her behind.”

Vast relief flooded Lyola. Her knees went weak. Jason caught the girl. She clung to him fiercely, as if she were grasping a lifesaver in a turbulent sea, and he felt the thrilling press of her shapely, youthful body against his own.

“Thank you,” she said with heartfelt gratitude and warmth. She gestured toward the doorway. “I will fetch a few personal things and bring Tilla. I promise I will be back quickly.”

Her composure regained, Lyola slipped away, leaving Jason alone with the rising fear that danger was not far off.

7. Madness in the Shadows

Unseen, Tilla lingered in the doorway, her ears straining as she eavesdropped on the couple’s conversation. Despite their whispers, she had heard everything due to the acoustics of the room and had clearly seen the growing affection that was now developing between Jason and Lyola. Tilla’s mind was unbalanced - the result of inbreeding. She had become dangerously obsessed with Jason the moment she laid eyes on him, and after witnessing the couple embrace, this obsession blazed into an inferno of crazed, possessive jealousy.

As Lyola approached the doorway where Tilla lurked, the deranged woman slipped into the shadows, her eyes gleaming like those of a wild beast. Then, in a sudden, animalistic motion, she lunged at Lyola as the girl stepped across the threshold and, with wild strength, swiftly clamped her hand over the younger woman’s mouth.

Lyola tried to fight her attacker off, tried to scream for help, but Tilla’s grip was like an iron gag. A desperate but unequal struggle unfolded. The fingers of Tilla’s other hand swiftly fastened onto Lyola’s throat in a vice-like grip, and the younger woman quickly sank into the blackness of unconsciousness.

Tilla bound Lyola’s wrists and ankles with strips of cloth torn from an ancient tapestry, then dragged her, still unconscious, to the palace’s courtyard. The colonnaded square was a space of cracked stone, its center dominated by a low, timeworn altar where flowers and incense were once offered to the Supreme Goddess. Mars’s faint moons, Phobos and Deimos—hung low, casting a cold, silver light on the altar’s time-worn idol, its crystal eyes eerily catching the chill illumination.

Tilla heaved Lyola atop the slab, her face a study in crazed bloodlust. She whispered ancient chants - a magic prayer to compel Jason’s love - in a language that was even older than her own. Then, in a perversion of the ritual, she tore Lyola’s white robe to expose her rival’s youthful breasts. For a moment Tilla smiled with dark triumph, and then she drew a rusty knife from her own apparel and raised it high above her head.

8. The Monster Returns

Jason, still in the hall, felt a spike in his unease—a sixth sense that informed him something was terribly wrong. It was a spur that compelled the worried Earthman to action. With quick and anxious footsteps, he approached the doorway that Lyola had stepped through, all his senses on high alert. His sharp eyes saw that the dust on the floor bore faint marks, as if something heavy had been dragged across it. Instinctively, he followed the trail, his steps swift and silent.

A scream, high and panicked, tore through the stillness. It was a raw animalistic cry that came from up ahead. Jason swore. He sprinted frenzidly down the passage and burst into the courtyard, his automatic pistol drawn. The monster that had fled earlier was now racing through another archway, its black scales gleaming in the twin moons’ light. It lunged at Tilla as she tried to flee, its clawed hands clamping mercilessly on her throat with the strength of an enraged constrictor.

The Earthman swore again. He fired at the creature. The bullet slammed into the thing’s side. It roared in pain and rage, swiftly turned, and charged straight at its tormentor. Jason, heart racing but hands steady, fired again. The monster’s scaled hide took the shot. Now confident it could not be seriously harmed, it kept coming with barely diminished speed. The beast leapt forward and swiftly seized the Earthman. Its fang-lined maw gaped wide to bite. Jason, utterly desperate, jammed his gun into the horror’s mouth and squeezed the trigger. The pistol exploded, and hot lead blasted through this vulnerable spot, piercing the monster’s brain and killing it instantly. The creature crashed onto the flagstones with a heavy thud.

Jason quickly ran to Tilla, but it was too late - the woman was dead; her neck had been snapped by the brutal strength of the raging beast. Swiftly, he freed Lyola from her bonds and the now conscious girl embraced him, weeping with relief.

“Come,” he said as he held her trembling body in his warm and comforting arms. “Let us depart from this place of horror with all haste.”

But as Jason helped Lyola from the altar, the young woman gasped, her eyes widening with sudden fear. The Earthman swiftly turned and saw a crystalline cube containing a living brain float into the courtyard. Revulsion coiled in his gut at the unnerving sight.

“It is Hekros,” cried Lyola in alarm. “He has detached himself from the machine, which he can do for a short period of time.”

A synthetic voice emanated from the cube. “Surrender,” commanded the disembodied brain. “I am the god of Mars. You cannot escape. You must stay and mate with Lyola. The Atlantean race must be preserved.”

“Neither I nor Lyola will live under your mad tyranny,” replied Jason firmly, his grip tightening on his pistol. “Move aside and let us pass.”

Hekros laughed - an eerie, crazed, inhuman sound. A bolt of electric force leapt from the cube and struck the pistol. Jason gasped in agony. He stumbled back, crashing against the altar, his weapon falling from his nerveless hand.

“I am God. Comply or be punished,” shouted Hekros as another agonizing bolt sent Jason crashing to the ground, utterly helpless and at the mercy of the insane horror in the cube.

All seemed lost when Lyola quickly intervened. She had seen how Jason used the gun. The girl swiftly snatched it up and fired at Hekros before he could react. The speeding bullet struck the cube and plowed through the disembodied brain. The device fell and shattered on the flagstones. Without the mechanism’s preserving force, the brain swiftly sublimated to putrid vapor, and the noxious gases were soon dissipated by the chill desert wind.

Lyola helped Jason stand. “Thanks,” he said, his legs still shaky as he leaned heavily on the altar. Then, looking at the body of Tilla, his voice saddened. “When my strength returns, I’ll bury her, and after that, we can leave this wretched place.”

The joyless funeral task was soon completed. Jason and Lyola stood by the open hatch of the Argos, looking back at the distant, crumbling graveyard of a city one final time.

“I am saddened by all this death,” said Lyola quietly. “But I also look forward to a new life on Earth with you.”

Jason smiled and squeezed her hand. “So do I,” he said.

They entered the craft. The hatch closed, and the ship rose into the air, becoming smaller and smaller as it sped toward Earth and the wondrous future that awaited them.

The End