Free The Ruins of Mars (The Ruins of Mars Trilogy Book 1) by Dylan James Quarles Page A

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