This is a science fiction story by Lennart Svensson, author of Redeeming Lucifer and other novels. The story plays on Mars in the year 2065, a time when the planet is terraformed and ready for colonisation. However, as the story begins, this transformation is still kept secret by the authorities.
Author's foreword: One of the supreme myths of science fiction is Mars, stories of the nearby red planet. All the greats of the genre have written about it, in some way or another. Among the eternal classics playing on Mars we have Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles and E. R. Burroughs' John Carter stories. Even today the genre touches on Mars, as in Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy and the films Total Recall, Mission to Mars and The Martian. Hereby my own humble attempt at presenting a Mars story.
- - -
He awoke and remembered a strange dream.
He had been on a ship, an old-school sailing ship. A man standing next to him on the deck had pointed to a constellation in the sky:
“The Pleiades,” he said, “remember that.”
Next, above the ship, a white swan flew, croaking its indescribable song.
Then he awoke.
Strange, he thought. I’ve never been on a sailing ship. I’ve never seen one. Especially, there are no sailing ships here on Mars. Only arid desert.
He was an employee in a secret operation, a base on the planet Mars. It was the year 2065 and the base was still kept secret, still kept out of the eye of the public. The times might have been unfavorable for elite projects like this – a time of Earth liberating itself, of war scare and mass immigration being things of the past. Still, some strains of the self-righteous elite held on to power and kept running their weird projects, like having a base on Mars to flee to if world war broke out.
World war wouldn’t break out now. The Earth was more peaceful than ever. The peaceful, pro-white revolution had swept the Western world and brought everything else with it. Nonetheless, the secret Mars project kept going. It survived by its funding being hidden inside the intelligence service budget of the Empire ruling Earth. By tradition the intelligence community had many secret projects going, closed to the public eye.
- - -
Johnnie Holt, that was the guy’s name, the dreamer and the Mars base employee, a tall, slender figure with an aquiline nose and elongated facial features. And Holt of course knew of the development on Earth. He was born in Boston, USA, in 2023 and had seen both the anti-white society and the pro-white replacing it – both the rule of fear and the rule of trust coming after it. Still, he was employed by the government in a “black project,” a project funded by surreptitious machinations and covered up by lies.
But he wasn’t an evil, lying man. He was just a low-level bureaucrat, a clerk spending his day in an underground cubicle, filing and classifying routine matters in the running of the base, like keeping a check on stores and expenditure. He had been on Mars for ten years now. Communications to and from Earth, the shuttling of people, was done by a portal, allowing for instant translocation. Portal technology was another black project secret. For the hauling of larger objects there was a secret fleet of spaceships around.
The day of the strange dream of Johnnie Holt was otherwise an ordinary day on Burroughs Base. 142 people worked there, mostly engaged with terraforming the planet. The terraforming had gone on since the early 21st century. The base had been erected in 2014. Then, after the facilities were completed, the terraforming began – in secret, as with all the other things pertaining to the base project.
For the terraforming, firstly, the Martian polar ice caps were covered with dust, spread by crawler robots. That would melt them and water the seeds that other robots spread. Mars already had a thin atmosphere and, generally, it was in the bio-friendly zone because of its relative proximity to the sun. So, the plan to transform this desert world to a world of breathable atmosphere and waterways, maybe even seas, was deemed within the scope of possibility.
And when Earthy scientists, not initiated into the black project world, noted that the polar ice caps melted it was only interpreted as a natural process, as global warming of the Martian kind.
But, how long would they be able to keep the terraforming of Mars a secret?
How long, o Catiline? How long?
- - -
Johnnie Holt stood looking out over the Martian landscape through a scuttle, a circular, air-tight contraption of several plates of lucite. Stirring a cup of Lapsang souchong he absently said:
“The plains sure look green today.”
“Mm-hm,” said his controller colleague, Sam Spalje, sitting by a table in the coffee room for the junior section of the administrative corps of the base.
“So green that it’s almost, I don’t know, earthly. Liveable.”
“OK. Then step out!” Spalje said. “What’s stopping you.”
“Might as well do that.”
“No, seriously, you will die. Ain’t enough oxygen yet.”
“How do you know? You’re a scientist now?”
And then the conversation died out. Still, Holt persisted in looking out at the land – the flat, green from fungi – or sprouting grass?
And the sky. A touch of blue, hadn’t it...? Maybe even the hint of scudding clouds...?
He must have a look. He had to go outside.
Without a spacesuit.
It was madness but the dream last night, that of sailing to the Pleiades, had engendered a strange mood – a daring mood, an adventurous mood with dreamy undertones.
Long story short, after the end of the workday, Holt went to his 30-square meter living cubicle and had an energy drink. Then he sneaked away through a corridor and came to a hatch. He switched the two levers, opened the hatch and came out in a chamber. On the other side of it was another door.
He opened it – and stepped out in the open.
It was dark. The Martian night, in its roughly 24-hour cycle.
A thought flickered through his mind: I could survive even if the planet isn’t wholly terraformed yet. There is some atmosphere on Mars. Enough to sustain you for, I dunno --
But he had no feeling of asphyxiation. He could breathe. The terraforming was virtually complete. But in the prevailing mood of secrecy the authorities of course hadn’t made it public, not even to the base personnel.
Holt, standing on Martian soil, vaguely discerned the horizon in the east, black land under a pale brown sky.
He was dressed in pants and shirt and an overall, boots on the feet and a tight cap on his head, in his pockets a water bottle and a power bar. So, he could venture out and see the sights, take a little tour.
He wondered: I’m the first man venturing out freely on Mars. That is, I’m not the first man ever. There have been crews in this Burroughs Base project going out in spacesuits, controlling the terraforming robots and such.
Still, he thought, I’m the first man venturing out on Mars freely, without a spacesuit. I’m the first free man venturing out on Mars. I’m here because I want to be here – here, out in the open.
He wandered along and came to a hill. In it, he found a cave. All the time he breathed freely, not feeling tired or worn out. The terraforming had reached the viable level, a level of man being able to breathe the air created by seeding, watering and growing plants engendering a photosynthesis, creating an atmosphere with a healthy portion of oxygen.
He sat down in the cave and had some water. He wasn’t hungry but he thought that he could have some of the energy bar later, after some sleep.
- - -
That morning he dreamed of a long-haired, clean-shaved male figure in a tunic and a robe, standing in the plains and pointing to a seven-star constellation. Holt immediately knew that it was the Pleiades.
Again, the Pleiades...! First that ship-dream, now this.
And then, when he awoke, it got even more strange.
He had some water and a few bites on the power bar.
And when he again ventured out in the open, he saw the dream figure there.
A long-haired man in a tunic and a robe.
He approached him. The sky was bright, the air as fragrant – and breathable – as ever.
A fine Martian dawn, indeed...!
“A fine dawn, we have,” Holt began when he was close to the man.
The man, a mild, elevated type, nodded and said:
“Indeed. Welcome back.”
“You are back now. Man, white man, man of Pleiadean origin, is now back on Mars.”
Holt let that sink in.
The sun rose above the horizon, turning the landscape to a gold-tinged green.
“So I’m the first, then? First man to venture out on the Martian surface?”
“Well, there have been expeditions. But they all wore hermetically closed suits. You are the first to go out without a suit.”
Holt nodded. He was historic, he was legendary. OK. He didn’t care about that, really. He just wanted to go on doing what he had begun, explore the land, venture out. Climb the mountains of Mars. Go where no man had gone before. His ten-year stint on Mars, living inside Burroughs base, sure had given him time to dream.
Then he came to think of the other guy and who he really was – a man in an old-school garb, standing in the Martian plain. And having asked it, Holt got the answer:
“I’m Angelicus, the 17th century adept and subsequent ascended master.”
“What’s an ‘ascended master’?”
“It’s a human being having lived several lives, lives intent on spiritual evolution. With time, after many such lives, he or she becomes a constantly conscious, constantly blessed person, an astral being able to project his astral body into everyday reality and teach men.”
Holt didn’t at once understand what Angelicus meant. So, the latter explained further and said that he was a kind of demigod with a history as a human being, by cleansing his karma having reached a higher level.
“And I’m not really here,” Angelicus said. “It’s only my astral body. My ‘soul,’ my essence projected in relatable form.”
“OK,” Holt said, a bit uneasy at the prospect but calmed by the other’s tranquil countenance.
“I’m here to teach you. Inform you,” Angelicus said. “As intimated you are a representative of man, white man, having come back to a planet he once lived on.”
- - -
They took a stroll over the land, Angelicus meanwhile explaining that man originated in the Pleiades 6 million years ago. 2 million years ago a Pleiadean, human contingent settled on Mars and colonized it, cultivating the land, building cities and creating a buzzing civilization. Then 1 million years ago, an accident destroyed it.
“An accident?” Holt said. “Just like that?”
“Indeed,” Angelicus said. “Those Pleiadeans weren’t angels, like me. They were men, with all their faults and advantages. They experimented with nuclear power and accidently blew themselves up – the culture, the habitats, everything, killing off all life on the planet.”
“Aha,” Holt said, somewhat wiser, non the calmer. So, even in olden days, in a cosmic past, man could goof and falter. That was human, maybe.
“But a small contingent,” Angelicus continued, “built a merkaba, a layout of pyramids able to generate a dimensional passage. Such a passage was indeed created, enabling a Pleiadean, Aryan group to leave devastaded Mars and head for Earth, in 65,000 BC. Man lived on Atlantis then and this group settled there.”
“Wow,” Holt said.
“And you and all white men originate from them. Well, partly. There had been other Pleiadean sowings of Earth even before and after, like the seeding of Hyperborea in the last interglacial and the Caucasian outflow in what you call the Bronze Age. That was due to another portal passage.
“White man went on to dominate Earth. In post-Atlantean times there were other races of peoples around, created by other aliens seeding Earth, like the Annunaki. Now Aryan man ventured out and subdued these races, putting his stamp on the lands culturally and ethnically. Maybe some of his chauvinist strain seen on Mars was still around. But he, Aryan man, white man, also had a talent for responsible government, ordered religion and ordered society. That was his legacy, in the east and the west, the north and south, in Europe, the Middle East, India, China and the Americas. In Europe, his legacy remained most visible and pregnant, ethnically, politically, culturally and linguistically.
“OK,” Holt said, halting by a pool of water. “Interesting all. But did white man really go to China and the Americas? I mean, I’ve heard of old Europe’s founding white culture and Aryans in Persia and India, but the other?”
“Seek and you will find,” Angelicus said. “Seek in the records of secret history. For instance, there has been found red-haired mummies in America.”
Changing the subject, Angelicus looked down on the pool and said:
“Drink it, Martian! Drink the water.”
“But still-standing water isn’t healthy, I’ve heard.”
“It’s a well. The warmed climate, enabled by terraforming, has engendered this well. Frozen water in the rock, now trickling forth by capillarity.”
Holt nodded and went down on his knees, putting his mouth to the cool surface and
having himself a mouthful.
Standing up again, wiping his mouth, he said “ahh”. He enjoyed the taste of really fresh water. He had never even had that on Earth, even though it was still to be had in remote forest and mountain regions and such. He had lived his whole life in artificial surroundings, first on Earth, then on Mars.
- - -
The pale Martian sun had reached the apex of its course. They were in the Arabia Terra region. Thanks to terraforming the formerly red, arid plain now had grass, fern and moss growing on it.
“So, my dear earthly man,” Angelicus continued, “as I said – welcome back to Mars. Your kind has been here before. That Pleiadean colonizing I spoke of. So, this is merely a return to your place of origin, a chance of reconnecting with your roots – the Pleiades.”
Saying this, he pointed up in the sky. The sky was too bright to show stars but Holt knew that he pointed to the seven-star cluster that was the constellation in question, the Pleiades. Just as he had seen it in his dream.
“Aha,” he said. “But, can you show me some remains of that Pleiadean colonization here on Mars?”
“Of course. If you don’t mind some astral tripping.”
“The way I fly.”
With this, the spiritual master touched Holt’s forehead – and in the next moment, he was soaring above the plain. When he turned around the saw his body lying prostrate on the ground. At his side, Angelicus said:
“Don’t worry. Your body is safe and sound. And you’ll return to it later.”
“No, actually not. You can remain in soul form, if you think you’re ready for that.”
“But first, a tour of Mars – an astral tour. Your astral body having a survey of the hotspots!”
The pair soared over the green plain and then flew over a rather hilly region, a red, stony desert of the usual Martian kind.
Then more plains, more greenery – and then a larger mountain looming up ahead – and then they headed for the top and alighted upon it.
“Wow,” Holt said, seeing the surroundings of red desert, green plains and silvery surfaces indicating water.
“Some sight, eh,” Angelicus said. “We’re standing on the top of Mount Olympus. The highest mountain in the solar system. 27 kilometers high.”
“Thanks for taking me here,” Holt said. “But you talked about Pleiadean remains. And this is...?”
“No, this is just a stopover. Thought you might like to climb the highest peak in M-1, if only in astral form.”
“Why, of course. Thank you.”
They tarried for a while and then flew east again, heading for the region of Cydonia, north of Arabia Terra. A rather large structure was soon to be seen ahead, an enormous face looking up into the sky.
“The Cydonia Sphinx,” Holt said. “Great to see it from above.”
“So, you do know of it?” Angelicus said.
“Of course. We all do. An anomaly the authorities tried to explain away when it was discovered by the Viking Mars probe in the 1970s. However, I’ve personally been part of the cover-up so I mean, OK, whatever...”
They homed in on the structure and soon was inside it, just like that, because they were both astral bodies, immaterial. Soaring around in the interior Angelicus showed Holt bas-reliefs, inscriptions and remains of the Pleiadean presence. He said that the Pleiadean colonizers had built the structure, hewn out of solid rock and hollowed into a hall.
“A grand hall,” Holt said. “Red splendor, red rock... what can I say.”
“Just take it all in. Pleiadean remains, reminding you of humans having been here before. Colonizers claiming a planet and making it into a grand civilization. But recklessness and ‘too much head, too little heart’ caused them to devastate the land. In fact, destroying the whole ecosystem. Mars was habitable before they came, it had water and air and vegetation, but after their wayward experimentation, their tampering with the forces of nature, they blew the system up and died.”
“Except for the ones escaping to Earth.”
Angelicus nodded, adding:
“The lesson is: abandon nuclear technology. Go for crystal technology instead.”
“We already do,” Holt said. “I mean, crystal technology is out and about, as in crystalmagnets making quibbles soar.”
“But you still have nuclear energy.”
"This must cease. Spirit science strives for unity, for totality, unus mundus. Splitting the atom is anathema to this."
- - -
They left the interior of the sphinx and then flew here and there in their astral tripping, seeing remains in the land in the form of cities, roads and even canals. One canal led from the crater of Hellas Planitia and further north. In due time, when the terraforming had created enough water to result in the ocean of Mare Katharina and other water basins, this would be the river Madsus. Then, that river would flow from the round lake of Planitia to the northern ocean, the northern hemisphere of Mars having lower elevation than the land in the south and thus becoming an enormous water basin, an ocean, almost covering the whole northern part of the planet.
They saw the sights, astrally climbing the mountains of Mars, soaring along Valles Marineris, flying over the northern flats, and then returning to the plain where they had first met. By this, Holt’s soul spontaneously returned to his body, that was his inner wish, his overall, spiritual intention. When he was back in his corporeal form, opening his eyes, it was night, the stars twinkling above.
Angelicus was still with him. He bade him to stand up and led him to the well once again. Holt had his fill and even filled up his water bottle. Then they went to the cave where Holt had slept his first night in the open. Sitting by the mouth of it Angelicus said:
“So, do you now have a perspective on things? On Mars, man, the Pleiadean strain and all that?”
“I do. And I shall not do experiments in nuclear technology.”
“Well, fine. Do what you please; I’m no dictator. I’m just a guide showing you, representative of the Man to Come, of free mankind, the lay of the land.”
“Thank you, Angelicus. It has been most instructive.”
Holt spoke the truth. He was slightly overwhelmed by what he had seen. White man had a grand past and a grand future, too, for what it seemed. He would have a future in space, on Mars and beyond. He would colonize Mars and, in due time, re-establish contact with Pleiadeans, his ancestors.
But this colonizing of course had to be done openly, not as a black project, a secret project. The program was overripe for being made public. The elite plan of having Mars as a safe resort during a nuclear war was passé now, with Earth going through the popular, peaceful revolution.
And now what? For Holt personally? Go on living in the open, live on water...?
He asked Angelicus about this. The master then taught him how to live on sunlight. Going barefoot over grass, drinking water and basking in the sun gave enough energy to live on. It sustained the astral body and etheric body and, by influxus, the physical body.
In the following days, Holt learned this. And he could summon Angelicus for more lessons of this and that when needed. And, to make a long story short, soon the Mars colony was revealed to the public by an insider, a whistle blower. The project of terraforming was also made public.
The reaction among the public, among men of Earth, among white men, those who cared about such things as space colonization – Faustian man, always going Beyond the Beyond – that reaction was mixed. It was like: to build a Mars base and terraform the planet and not telling the public was criminal, yet, the plan itself was grand and heroic. So, the plan was taken over by official authorities. And a surge to colonize Mars went ahead.
The planet now had breathable air and water, however, not enough to sustain a massive invasion of humans. Not mass immigration once again...! There were strict quotas on who would go there and why.
But it happened. After 30 years, the settlement of Runaburg in Terra Arabia had 20,000 inhabitants. This soon became the capital of Mars. It was situated 17 km northwest of Burroughs Base.
Most importantly, Mars became the virtual possession of white man. Only he had the drive to go there. It was no surprise. In the past, what race was most persistent in conceiving of the stars, the planets...? -- The white race.
There might have been stargazers and astronomers-astrologers in other cultures, but the enduring scientific strain of looking at the stars and trying to fathom their inherent mechanics, that strain was an expression of white man, Faustian man. A man breeding a culture of exploration, of going Beyond the Beyond, conceptually and tangibly. The culture of Erathosthenes, Gallilei, Brahe, Kepler, Copernicus, Newton, Einstein, Goddard, Oberth, von Braun, Koroljov, Gagarin, Shephard, Glenn, Armstrong.
And Johnnie Holt. After a year of living in the Martian open, subsisting on water, sun and air, an earthly expedition arrived and made contact with him. It was an official expedition, using the previously hidden technology of the black projects’ world, with a crystal magnet-driven ship enabling a mere ten days to go from Earth to Mars. Supported by the facilities of the already established Burroughs Base the expedition soon encountered Holt, living, so to speak, on its doorstep, in the cave not far away from it, the base where he once had worked.
He became known as “The First Man on Mars,” meaning the first free man, the first one breaking out of the confines of the elite project planning to have Mars for its own purposes. He became known as “The First Man on Mars” or simply “the Martian”. Having made contact with men once again he readapted to an ordinary life, one of eating food and living in a habitat. For a while he continued to work as a clerk in the terraforming project. Soon, however, he could quit work for good, living by doing speaker tours on Earth, spreading the gospel of Angelicus, that of white man having a great future in space, on Mars and beyond. He preached the Pleiadean strain.
- - -
In his lectures, Holt spoke of many things within the framework of white space exploration. Spurred on by galactic history he became a pro-white spokesman, preaching against anti-whiteness and for “white community going its own way”. For instance, in Stockholm on June 23, 2070, he said this:
“White man will conquer space. You know what I’m talking about. Newton, Verne, Tsiolkovsky, Goddard, Oberth, von Braun, Armstrong. I’m not saying that other races can’t contribute. I’m just saying that for many reasons, now’s the time for white man to go his own way.
“I mean, today it’s no matter who concocted the infamous anti-white ideology. I’ll skip that for now...! Instead, I say: from the mid 20th century and on the expressions of sympathy towards white man from black, yellow, red man were few and far between.
“OK. I’m not saying that white man is an angel. But neither is he the demon the late 20th, early 21st century portrayed him as.
“White man enduring non-white mass immigration as a sort of punishment for perceived evils? OK, whatever. But now you’ve had your time, non-whites. You’ve thrived by living in white man’s technotopia, by benefiting from inventions like the car, the train and the plane, by central heating, sewage systems, electricity and information technology. And it was yours by right, right? Yours to use and benefit from, with not a word of thanks to the spiritual father of all this? A compensation for perceived evils, done to you by white man?
“OK. Then don’t follow us if we go to space and continue colonizing Mars.
“Don’t follow us, then, if we’re so evil.
“This is white community going its own way – into space.”
For the fees received Holt bought himself an apartment in a Runaburg redstone house, filled with objets d’art, carpets and furniture given to him by people thankful for his legendary feat, that of being the first man to venture out on the Martian surface alone, as a free man, free of the confines of a wayward secret program.
Burroughs Base and Runaburg were situated in what was until then known as Arabia Terra. Now it was renamed Aryavarta – land of the Aryans. Because it and all of Mars became the virtual domain of the white race.
Of course, there were no ethnically profiled quotas, no race laws prohibiting a black, a yellow or a red man from going to Mars. It just happened to be that predominantly and essentially, space colonization became a white thing. And, looking at white history, it was in the cards.
Barring a few individual examples, no other race altogether had the same urge to go to space and head for Mars, to colonize a new world, as the white race had. It was the same urge having had white man build ships and sail from European shores to America, India, China – by Vikings, Portuguese, Spaniards, Frenchmen, Dutch, Englishmen. Over time and accounting for the consistency of the projects, no other race had the staying power of the white race in venturing out, claiming new land and shaping it after his image. No other race was shaped by the image of “going to space” as white man was.
It was the white syndrome all the way back from Pleiadean man coming to Mars 2 million years ago. Venture out, claim the land, fashion it.
It was what Aryan man did: venture out, create empires.
Now, at the end of the 21st century, to white man, going into space was a case of necessity. To other races, it was just “one of those things”. Other races were happy to thrive in their earthly places of origin – Chinese in China, Indians in India, MENA people in MENA, Africans in Africa, etc. For its part, this strain was sealed in 2092 by the Charta Mundi convention, securing the existence of all people in their places of origin. This consolidated the gains of the peaceful revolution begun in the 2050s, restoring white countries to their majority populations – white men, Aryan men.
The Charta also secured the existence of white man in the multicultural USA. As such, this treaty didn’t come up with anything new. It merely stressed that ICERD – and the related convention CPPCG, incriminating genocide – should be respected. This put an end to the anti-white syndrome. Other than that, making the US secure for white man engendered a space colonizing surge. In the euphoric realization that white man had been on Mars before, the gospel spread by Holt’s lecturing, the American whites who matched the requirements emigrated to Mars in large numbers along with brethren from Europe, Australia and New Zeeland.
On Earth, Aryan man’s lands were secured as white lands – and “upstairs,” in space, white man took the lead in colonization. Therefore, Mars, the subsequent colony of Venus, and, later, the star systems man colonized to form the Mirotanian Empire, became a predominantly white dominion. It was explicitly and implicitly white. It was an Aryan space empire, with Mars as the first stopover and with a possible re-connection with the Pleiadean Realm as a distant goal.
That was the legacy of Johnnie Holt and his era.
Going After the Saurian Baddies
Good Cop, Mad Cop
The Middle Zone
Photo montage by LS.